


Touch the Sky

by Dracoduceus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Capture and Rescue, Discussions of Homophobia, Dragon Riders, I can't resist I'm only a little sorry, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: It started with a promise:we will bring him back for you.Then another:we will come back. We will not leave you alone.It's like the old poems:Who wills,Can.Who tries,Does.Who loves,Lives.





	1. The Hatching

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WereKem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WereKem/gifts).

> So this is a story that has been tossed around between myself and Kem for...a really long time now. It's always been put aside as the more we talked about it, the more background to this world and this story that I had and I wanted to make sure that I did it justice.
> 
> On that note, a brief background:  
This world is based a little on [The Dragonriders of Pern](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonriders_of_Pern), a little on the [Temeraire Series](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Temeraire_\(series\)), and a little based on [The Dragon Jouster series](https://www.mercedeslackey.com/books/joust-2003/) by Mercedes Lackey.  
In the Dragonriders of Pern, dragons are intelligent beings bonded telepathically to humans...and there is more or less only one kind of dragon, though their coloring affects their size and "use". The poem in the summary and a poem that McCree later references is also from this series, which features snippets of song or poems at each chapter.  
In the Temeraire series, they are still intelligent but Naomi Novik introduced other breeds of dragon in different weights and classes--which is why there are different dragons here. There are also wild dragons--so that means that there is more uniqueness in breeding and in the handling of dragons. The idea of dragon rights and the general intelligence of dragons in comparison to humans was also brought up in those stories, which also leads to some of the discussions in this story.  
In the Dragon Jousters series, dragons are wild and are tamed into servitude. They are portrayed in that series as animals and do not have human intelligence. From this series though, I was inspired by the way the dragons were kept: in sand pens with warmed sand, in a stable-like building, with a pathway around the pens for people to walk and an area in the back for the riders to sleep. 
> 
> Other than that, there should not be any background knowledge required. Eventually, all of the more finicky bits will be explained.

“Remember,” his mother whispered to him as they entered the weyrs that held the dragons. “Do not be afraid.”

That was easy for her to say. She had grown up around dragons, had always worked with them. Her marriage to Hanzo’s father was mutually beneficial to both sides—the Shimadas were said to have bred the best dragons in all of Japan, followed closely by the Ueokas, if only because they were a different type of breeder.

From a young age Ueoka Haruka had been around dragons. Watched—and occasionally helped—them hatch, helped to raise them, learned their quirks, and in her own right became a master breeder and dragoner. She had even Impressed, something that had made her a more desirable candidate for marriage with Hanzo’s father.

Even if the Ueoka family didn’t want to give up the secrets of their breeding, or offer a selection of dragons or their eggs as her dowry, she had a dragon with her that she would never part with.

But Hanzo knew that she was right and took a deep breath.

Today he would choose a dragon companion. The Elders didn’t want to trust to fate with Impression, and though it was an archaic and _ traditional _ process, what good would it do the future _ oyabun _? Let Genji Impress a dragon; let Hanzo choose an older and wiser dragon that would serve as protector and confidant.

And, if Ueoka Haruka was correct, then Hanzo could speak to it as easily as if he had Impressed. It ran in her family, she explained more than once, and Hanzo showed every sign of having that gift.

After that declaration, Hanzo’s value as the heir had doubled overnight. The dragon was the symbol of the Shimada Clan and if Hanzo could hear the speech of every dragon, whether he Impressed or not was a bit of serendipity that no one had expected. It would solidify his right to the position of _ oyabun _ following his father.

There were other heirs after all. Shimada Hiroki was also being eyed and a few years older than Hanzo, he was in some ways more desirable. Nearly eighteen years old, so was Shimada Hanami, even ignoring what the Elders called the _ accident of his birth _.

But none of them could hear the dragons.

“Are you ready?” Ueoka Haruka asked Hanzo who straightened his back and shoulders and lifted his chin proudly.

“I am.”

The weyrs, as Hanzo knew, were almost like apartments for each dragon. Corridors wide and tall enough for dragons and humans to walk through connected each in a series of long branches. Each weyr was customized for each dragon per their breed or personal preferences. Some had heated pools or sand wallows and some preferred stacks of furs or pine needles or straw.

Each one, much like a horse’s stables, only had one entrance through the main doors in the corridor.

As Hanzo entered, he could smell the heady aroma of the stews coming from the mess hall for the dragons. It was close to feeding time and the prospect of speaking to angry dragons was not a pleasant one. They would not believe him to be food, but they would be much more irritable and Hanzo wasn’t sure that he was ready for that.

Still, he would do his duty. He took a deep breath and nodded to Ueoka Haruka again. He stepped forward into the hallway.

A few dragons came to watch them pass but turned away, uninterested. Some of their doors were open and those dragons peered out but said nothing to Hanzo or Haruka as they passed with their entourage.

Haruka led the way to an enormous courtyard where even more dragons lounged. From what she had told Hanzo, he knew that it was at the center of the weyr complex and boasted decorative koi ponds and grassy hills for the dragons to lounge. Servants attended these dragons, the favored ones, the ones that offered council and wisdom to those that asked.

For those that couldn’t speak to dragons, they could communicate through large sand tables as these dragons knew how to write in human tongues. The oldest here, an enormous blue-black male, turned his orange eyes toward them.

He was of the famous Shimada glass breed, named for the way that their scales shone as if made of glass tiles, but his eyes and conformation—and that of his siblings—brought shame upon the breeders. He was the last of that batch, having proved his worth through his intellect; none of his siblings had been so lucky.

They called him Kuro and in the weyr they said that it matched his heart, which was as cold and treacherous as black ice.

Hanzo bowed to Kuro as he stood and walked over. Somewhere above them, perched on the wall, Ueoka Haruka’s dragon hissed threateningly. Kuro circled them, tall enough that Hanzo could easily walk beneath him without striking his head on the hard scales of his belly.

Then Kuro walked away and ignored them, curling around his sand table to resume what he had been doing. There were two more dragons in the courtyard but they likewise didn’t rouse themselves from their activities save to cast them a cursory glance.

If they said anything, Hanzo had yet to hear it.

“There are others,” Ueoka Haruka assured him, and her confidence made Hanzo’s spirits rise. “Come along.”

She may have wanted to say something else, but she refrained for fear of the listening ears of the guards following them. But perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part.

_ A bunch of lazy do-nothings _ , Haruka’s dragon grumbled, dropping to the ground behind them. She hissed when Kuro glared at them with a large, orange eye. _ Not worthy of your time, Little Cat _.

The dragon’s private inspiration made Hanzo’s spirits rise, just a little. “We’ll cut through this way,” Haruka decided and led the way down another corridor.

_ There is a Hatching, _ Haruka’s dragon observed. _ Or, was. _

Down the halls Hanzo could hear the sound of low, hungry voices. The little dragonets were crying, yowling, hissing as they demanded food. But there was another voice that rose above them.

Two weyrs ahead, two men stumbled out of the doors with fearful cries. An ungainly form, all long legs and wings that were not used to movement outside of the shell, followed close behind. As Hanzo watched it gathered itself and leaped on one of the fleeing men, its sharp talons—almost too long for its body—drawing blood as he screamed.

The dragon perched on the man’s back as he sobbed into the pounded dirt and snarled. She turned to face Hanzo, her golden eyes wild and luminous.

Hanzo didn’t need to know anything about dragon breeding to know that there was something not quite right about her. Perhaps her conformation would even out as she aged but she was much longer in the legs than he was accustomed to. Her coloring was a glorious shade of deep blue at the tips of her nose, tail, and each paw that shaded into palest turquoise along her spine but her sides and back were speckled in gold as if a careless child—like Genji—had grabbed a brush and splattered paint along her sides.

She opened her mouth wide and hissed, revealing two distinct rows of teeth: one white as bone and the other black as polished obsidian. The second set moved with the muscles of her jaw, moved like the stinger of an insect, jabbing the air as she made her threat display.

The man beneath her was doomed. Her weight, though she was hardly the size of Hanzo’s torso, must surely have been crushing him and Hanzo could see that her hind claws, each as long as his finger, had dug into the skin and muscles of his thighs. If they had not punctured the artery, then they had certainly severed his hamstrings—death by exsanguination or life as a cripple was a tough choice for a dragoner.

Behind him, Hanzo could hear the guards draw their weapons. “No,” he told them, almost before he was aware of speaking.

“Young master,” one of them began.

“If you shoot a dragonet, their parent will be worse than angry,” Hanzo told them. “And you will upset the rest.” He stepped forward. The dragoner that had escaped the dragonet’s wrath tried to stop him, clinging to his nice _ haori _ and wrinkling the fine silk in his hands as he cried, tried to pull Hanzo back. “Release me or lose your hands. Or better yet, I will feed you to the dragonet.”

_ As if I would sink so low as to eat him _, a voice he didn’t recognize said. But that wasn’t new—he’d never spoken to the dragons in the weyr before.

He ignored it at the moment in favor of prying the man’s hands off of him. “A man afraid of his charges is not worth the name of dragoner,” he continued. “Begone from my sight.”

“Little boy,” the man cried. “It’s a monster.”

Hanzo turned to the dragon who hissed again, the second row of fangs jabbing the air. The man beneath the dragonet had fallen still though he was still awake and sobbing. “Begone,” he said again. “I will not say it a third time.”

“But-” Hanzo slammed the heel of his hand into the man’s shoulder, satisfied to hear the _ pop _ of his arm popping out of its socket. Now the man screamed, falling to his knees in pain.

The dragonet hissed and approached, stopping a few paces away. It had the beginning of horns and though still coated in egg fluid, Hanzo could tell that it was most likely an experimental offshoot of the glass breed as its scales were iridescent in the light in the weyrs.

Hanzo was only dimly aware of the man running away, his arm hanging uselessly from his shoulders; he was barely conscious of the group of dragoners that approached with a wheelbarrow full of meat cut into small enough chunks for hungry dragonets, hardly noticed them stopping and crying out in horror.

His world seemed to narrow down to the wild, golden eyes of the dragonet. She hissed.

“Get away, young master,” one of the guards said.

“That thing’s a mankiller!” one of the dragoners cried. “It’s dangerous, young lord, get back.”

The dragonet turned and snarled at the dragoners who leaped back as if burned. “No,” Hanzo said coldly. “She’s mine.”

* * *

His surprising Impression caused a lot of trouble. Raitsu, as Hanzo claimed her name was, had been of an experimental breed as Hanzo had guessed. If he had not Impressed her, she would have been culled.

The breeders and Elders were both tempted, but Hanzo’s Impression caused a lot of issue. If they culled her now that she’d Impressed, then there was an extremely high chance that Hanzo would be braindead.

Talk came up of whether Hanzo was the ideal heir—they had other options, after all, and Raitsu was too wild. She had already crippled a dragoner in a fit of rage that was highly unusual in so young a dragon. The heir of the Shimada Clan could not be seen with something so feral, but they couldn’t get rid of her.

They _ could _ get rid of both Hanzo _ and _ Raitsu, though. Taking Hanzo out of succession would solve a lot of problems. Every breath that Raitsu took was an affront to their breeders and if Hanzo was out of succession, it no longer mattered if he was catatonic or not.

Still, he was useful in that he could speak to dragons and so talk of culling Raitsu was put on hold as they considered the implications of that.

Not to mention, the _ oyabun _ was obviously against his eldest son being rendered so useless.

There were other implications as well. Impression was a dangerous business—Candidates, whether put to the egg deliberately or not, could end up maimed or killed as the dragonets searched for their Impression partner.

In addition, there were…other implications of Impression. Males Impressed males and females Impressed females; if there was any variance in that, there were…implications. Sexual implications.

For when females rose to mate, a male rose to fly her. And while the dragons mated in the air their riders…well, their riders mated on the ground, caught up in the wild joy and lust a good flight.

It was a special kind of hell for Hanzo to sit through this, to hear these things discussed as if he were not there. But the _ oyabun _ made it clear that his place was to listen and not speak, to be seen and not heard, so he obeyed his father.

The Shimada Clan needed heirs, the Elders said. And a homosexual man could not produce legitimate heirs.

“There is no proof that Hanzo shows such…desires,” the _ oyabun _replied. “And Hanzo knows his duty. Let him take a consort if he so chooses, but he will do what he must to continue the Shimada name.”

“Hanzo does show evidence of this, it is plain to see in his Impression of that abomination,” one of the Elders argued. He had been one of Hanzo’s favorite tutors, once. Next to his mother, the Elder Tetsuo had taught him all that he had wanted to know of dragons in the Shimada weyrs and around the world. “He Impressed a female dragon—we all know what this means, that when she rises to fly he in turn will be mounted like some kind of animal!”

The betrayal hurt but Hanzo was long used to this kind of torture.

And this time he had Raitsu to share the pain.

_ I would much like to kill them, _ Raitsu told him in an alarming show of violence. He knew that her tongue was flicking out as if searching for the scent of the elders, even trapped in her weyr.

Hanzo almost didn’t want to stop her. _ Later, _ he told her instead.

It was decided that Hanzo would remain in succession, but only by a narrow margin. He would go to the weyrs again and find a companion—a _ worthy _ companion—to be the visible to the public.

Not a breeding reject.

Not a wild creature.

Not a _ female _ dragon.

As much as possible, he was kept separated—physically separated—from Raitsu and not even Ueoka Haruka’s insistence that such separation could cause damage to the both of them would sway that decision.

It got worse when Genji, young that he was, caught wind of Hanzo’s dragon and demanded to meet her. When Raitsu didn’t maim him—a risk that the _ oyabun _ had been furious about—it was decided to give Raitsu to Genji who decided, at the age of five, that he didn’t like the stuffy name and called her Mizu instead.

And so life went.

Genji was oblivious to Hanzo’s Impression, too young to fully understand what had happened; all he knew was that he had a dragon as a pet. Despite this Hanzo was still expected to take care of her—to take care of his mistake. This meant feeding her, exercising her, and cleaning her waste. Raitsu and Hanzo were both well aware that they were both puppets, the other’s life held hostage to force obedience. The dragon assigned to Hanzo was kind enough and was truly wise, but he was not Raitsu and he did not know Hanzo’s heart.

Predictably Genji soon grew tired of his little pet and neglected her for other pursuits. Hanzo was her only visitor. And unlike what everyone had hoped, her violent nature did not mellow out.

In his teens, Hanzo suggested that she get exercise—perhaps that would soothe her wild temper. (It would not, not completely, because they were privately convinced that she was the manifestation of all of the feelings that he could not express. But it would certainly make her feel better to touch the sky.) She had long since fledged and hardly had anything to show for it, and flying around her weyr was hardly strenuous enough to exercise her.

It was immediately denied. Female dragons, after all, flew only to mate.

_ Then why do they have wings? _ Hanzo wanted to demand but he was old enough to know better.

As a young man, shortly after the passing of both of his parents, Hanzo was pressured to do the unthinkable. The wisdom of his assigned dragon was also turned against him. He spoke of honor and duty and filled his thoughts with it.

Unlike the Elders, he could not silence the dragon, could not run to escape him. He was always there, pouring his poison in Hanzo’s ears.

And when the vile deed was done and Hanzo stood over the broken body of his brother, he despaired.

_ I am here, _ his puppet dragon soothed. _ Do not despair in doing your duty but delight in it for you have done your family and ancestors proud. _

“Leave me,” Hanzo commanded the room. _ Leave _, he silently commanded the false dragon. “I wish to meditate on my duty.”

That pleased everyone and they left him. _ Raitsu _, he cried.

_ I am here. I am here, Hanzo. Little Cat. _

Hanzo gathered the broken body of his brother. He wrapped it in cloth and carried it out. When asked where he was going, he claimed that he would use it to send a message. No one questioned him after that.

He laid Genji’s body, still stubbornly clinging to life, where Overwatch would find it and snuck into the weyrs. No one would find him here this late—no one wanted to walk those silent halls full of dragons in the darkness.

No one there would find him covered in his brother’s blood, pale and shaking as the weight of what he had done sank deep into his bones.

He shoved open the door to Raitsu’s weyr and wrapped his arms around her neck. Neither of them knew how long they stood together, Hanzo’s head pressed to her neck or when they finally realized: _ this ends now. _

Their plan was made in a wordlessness that only existed between an Impressed pair, in the split second it took to make a thought.

Hanzo found an old saddle that would fit Raitsu and despite his fretting that she couldn’t fly, not with a rider, she’d never flown, he strapped it to her neck and chest. He left the swords—representing his father, the terrible decisions made—and picked up the bow—his mother’s, broke into the shrine to steal it and promised her lingering spirit and that of her dragon that he would make things right.

He and Raitsu would not be separated again.

They were one, as his mother and her dragon had been one.

And they would do their duty.

That night the air was filled with screams and roars. When the dust settled and blood began soaking into the _ tatami _ mats and _ shoji _screens and the sands of the weyrs, Hanzo mounted Raitsu for the first time in their lives. He settled at the juncture of neck and shoulder, in front of her wings—in his rightful place, in the place where no one else should have sat and yet his brother had been there, had mistakenly claimed her as his pet.

They spread their wings in the cold morning light, their eyes trained on the mountains on the horizon and the sea of trees beneath it, and flew.

* * *

* * *

It was the fifth time that Jesse had run away.

He loaded up his bags and tossed them on the horse and scrambled up. Really, he wanted to take another horse. Jacob was _ old _ but Jesse was sure that he could carry him far enough to find another means of transportation.

Taking another horse would mean that he would be noticed sooner, of course. That was not something he wanted; he wanted to be long gone by the time his disappearance was noticed.

Jacob didn’t like being woken up at the ass crack of dawn but he was old and well used to obedience so it wasn’t much of an issue.

And as Jesse had hoped, Jacob _ did _ get him very far before he showed signs of fatigue. The down-side was that he showed his sign of fatigue in the worst way possible: by collapsing at the edge of the ravine they were tracing.

Down horse and rider rolled and Jesse was honestly not sure how he hadn’t been killed. He scrambled to his feet, covered in dust and scratches, and found that Jacob was dead.

In the middle of the desert.

Jesse sighed and kicked the dead horse’s belly in frustration. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he set to work removing the gear from Jacob’s body and considering his choices.

_ Hello? _

He stood up so quickly that he was momentarily dizzy, looking around the ravine. There was no one there but he had been so sure that he heard a voice.

Perhaps it was just the wind.

_ Is someone there? _

No, that was definitely a voice, the words perfectly clear despite it sounding no louder than a whisper. He swallowed, his throat dry and caked with dust, and took a sip from his water bottle as he looked around. There was no one there and the voice couldn’t have come from very far away.

He took a few steps toward the nearby bend and found that here the walls of the ravine were shallower and were probably climbable. It was a way out and Jesse was pleased to have found it.

The walls of the ravine also widened here and a cluster of boulders blocked the way. Curious, Jesse walked closer, putting his hands on the sandstone as he looked for purchase. Then he jumped back when he realized that it wasn’t stone that he touched; it was scales.

He was touching a dragon.

Jesse pressed both hands to his mouth, stepping back slowly.

_ Are you there? _

The voice came again and his curiosity getting the better of him as he edged along the body of the dragon. It was truly a body though—it was dead as he was able to confirm when he edged around it.

Its open mouth and eyes had been eaten, its scales too hard for most animals to penetrate. Animals _ could _ and _ did _ get at the soft tissues in its eyes and mouth, though, and Jesse wondered if that was how it had died.

“Hello?” Jesse cried, cupping his hands around his mouth.

_ Hello? _

Was that an echo or the voice? Jesse found rather stupid for wandering around a dead dragon. What if there was something in it? Something that had burrowed into its throat, chasing an easy meal of soft tissue?

_ Hello, are you there? _

Jesse wandered carefully around the dragon’s head, noting the bloating of the dragon’s belly. Thick, armored scales did not stop decomposition, and it looked fit to burst.

He heard a little _ click-click-click _ noise and looked for the source.

The dragon had been curled around what looked like a nest. Crude and in a terrible place for it as he was sure that this ravine flooded in the rains, but it was a nest. Scavengers or another dragon had gotten at them, shattering the eggs and devouring the young inside.

He heard the _ click-click-click _ noise and realized that perhaps not all of the eggs had been lost. There was one he found, listening to the noises, beneath one of the enormous claws of the dead dragon. It had protected the egg from scavenger and now prevented it from hatching.

_ Hello? _ The voice asked again, so full of despair that Jesse’s heart nearly choked him.

“I’m here,” Jesse said without thinking, rushing to the dead dragon’s claw. He heaved against it, fighting the great weight of it and gagging when it gave beneath him like a flat rubber ball, the muscles rotting away before the hard outer scales.

The egg was half-buried in the sand, already showing signs of cracking. If it had not been for the great weight of the claw it would probably have hatched, already. Jesse hesitated for just a moment, weighing his common sense against his inexplicable and overwhelming desire to help it.

“Hey,” he said softly, putting the paw down and beginning to dig it out of the sand. “Hey, I’m here.”

The _ click-click-click _ continued as he wiggled it free and a large chunk broke free, allowing the dragon to poke its nose through and breathe. It gave such ragged gasps that Jesse was sure that if he had waited another few minutes it would have suffocated.

For a while they breathed together and Jesse put his hands on the egg on either side of the jagged hole. “You’re almost free, don’t worry.”

_ How can I worry? _ The voice asked, sounding so relieved that Jesse’s breath escaped him.

Swallowing hard, Jesse found the old revolver that he had stolen from his foster-father’s cabinet and used it to tap on the shell with the dragonet. He lost track of how long he was there with it, kneeling in the sand and tap-tap-tapping at the shell. All the while he spoke softly to it. _ It’s okay, _ he said as he wiped sweat from his brow. _ You’re almost there. I’m here. _

_ I won’t leave you alone. _

And that was the greatest fear, could taste it in the dragonet’s desperate attempts to hatch. It was all alone. Everyone was dead and it was the last one there.

Jesse was all it had left and if it should die, at least it was with someone. At least there was someone to witness its short life.

So it was relieved, not because Jesse would help it live, but because it would be there for it if only to listen to its last, desperate gasps of breath.

With one last heave the egg split into ragged thirds and the dragonet tumbled into the sand in an exhausted sprawl. Its sides heaved, head and wings and tail draped limply on the ground as it gathered its strength.

Jesse sat back on his heels and breathed, coming to terms with what he had just done. A dragon.

He had just helped a wild dragon hatch.

What if dragons were like geese that imprinted on people? Oh, he hoped that this dragon wasn’t about to think that he’s it’s mother.

Still, it was beautiful. Where it’s mother had been brown and orange and dun in the colors of the desert sand and stone, this one was rich hues of red and orange like the proud mesas rising high into the sky. It was hard to tell what color or patterning it would have as it grew though. He though that it might be speckled with gold and orange, but that might be an early patterning for a young dragon.

It was a bit of an ugly thing in the way that all newborns are hideous. Its skin hung limply on its body as if it were too small, and its eyes were sunken into its head. It seemed so weak…

And it was so hungry.

Jesse could feel its hunger as if it were his own, pressing on his ribs and gnawing at his spine like a living thing. He pressed a hand to his stomach.

The dragonet opened its eyes and he froze in place. They were gold, as gold as the sun on the horizon, and they seemed to stare right through him, right down the very bottom of his soul, into the depths of his heart.

And he swore, would always swear if anyone asked, that something in him stared right back—_ and recognized him _.

_ I am Tsidiith, _ the dragonet said— _ his _ dragonet said. For Tsidiith was his—and he was Tsidiith’s.

* * *

A search party found him the next day. Tsidiith devoured Joseph’s body with Jesse’s help. He was too weak at first and Jesse had to feed him by hand while living in fear that those fearsome jaws, already filled with needle-sharp teeth, would tear into his skin. But Tsidiith was gentle and when he gaped for food waited until Jesse’s hands were out of the way before closing his mouth.

It simply didn’t occur to Jesse that he could leave—that he _ should _ leave if he wanted to avoid being caught by his foster-dad. But Tsidiith was still too weak to move very far and his wings were over-large for his body so he kind of flopped and waddled everywhere while he gained the strength to lift them.

It was fortunate that Tsidiith had been hiding in the shadow of the ravine when the search party came up to them or he would have been shot on sight—Jesse had enough time to scramble into the shade and block him with his body until he could explain himself.

“Move, boy,” his foster-father said, lifting the rifle in his hands.

“No,” Jesse said stubbornly. “Ain’t movin’.”

“Move,” his foster-father warned. “Or I swear by God I’ll shoot that monster right through you.”

Tsidiith snarled. _ No! _ he cried in a voice that Jesse realized only he could hear.

“I think that’s enough,” the man next to Jesse’s foster-father said.

Jesse’s foster-father wasn’t done, though. “Maybe I should,” he growled. “Maybe I should just put a bullet through your eyes, boy. You’d been nothin’ but trouble, always sneaking away from your beatin’s. Now you’ve gone and killed my horse.”

The man beside his foster-father grunted. “Yeah, well, I suppose now I’d better step in.” his voice went from a lazy drawl to hard and authoritative in a change that was like a switch had been flipped. “Jackson. Lower your weapon or I will draw mine.”

That made Jesse’s foster-father pause. “Blake,” he said softly.

“That’s Sheriff right now,” Blake—Sheriff Blake—said. “And right now I’m charging you for assault of a minor.”

“Shut it,” Jesse’s foster-father growled. “How a man decides to discipline his brats ain’t none of your concern.”

The sheriff seemed completely at ease, as if Jesse weren’t about to get shot. His hands were on his wide belt as if he stood at the bar or at the counter of the convenience store in town. “We’re not in the Old West,” he said, sounding unfairly amused. “There _ are _ laws over that. They’re more difficult to enforce out here where everyone’s so spread out, but you’ve just threatened a minor and gave enough implication for me to call for an investigation into domestic assault.”

Jesse’s foster-father lowered his rifle to stare at the sheriff. “Blake-”

“Sheriff,” the other man corrected.

“Look,” Jesse’s foster-father said softly. “Ain’t no one cares what happens to a scrappy little orphan. He’s done nothing but cause me grief.”

The sheriff hummed. “When put like that no, but all lives have a right. This is your last warning, Jackson: put down your rifle.”

Jesse’s foster-father was a quick draw and he hadn’t really lowered the rifle too much and Jesse squeezed his eyes shut, hunching his body to curl protectively around Tsidiith. There was an enormous _ crack! _ that echoed along the stone walls of the ravine.

Something fell, landing on the ground behind Jesse and when he turned, Tsidiith did too. It was his foster-father, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Another thing fell and Jesse flinched back from it: a long coil of rope, one end tied to something he couldn’t see on the lip of the ravine. “Loop that end there around your dragon, boy,” the sheriff called down. “Tell it we gotta winch it up.”

“There’s a place I think we can climb out,” Jesse called back and described the shallower dip by the dragon’s body.

He watched the rope snake up. “Be careful, boy, and grab Jackson’s rifle. No sense leaving it behind.”

Jesse and Tsidiith scrambled over to the shallow wall of the ravine and found that the sheriff had tossed down the rope once more. With his help they were both able to climb out of the ravine and get Tsidiith loaded to the back of one of the ATVs they brought. Jesse got the dubious honor of driving the one that Jackson had driven over.

“Sir?” Jesse asked quietly.

“He fell,” the sheriff told him. “Far’s you know, right?” Jesse nodded obediently. “See, I’d been watchin’ him for a while. Covers his tracks too well. I turn my head for a lot of things, but a wife- and child-beater…well, there I gotta draw the line. Hear?” he sighed. “Things’re gonna get a lot worse though. You let me handle most of them, just worry about your lizard there, okay?”

_ I am not a lizard _, Tsidiith said but seemed fascinated by the sheriff, cocking his head this way and that as he looked at the man. His eyes seemed pale and milky and Jesse worried that he had gone blind somehow but didn’t dare stop the ATV to check just yet.

“He needs a good bath,” the sheriff continued. “And some oil on that skin of his. A good brush to slough the dried scales off and a rag to rub the oil in. He looks a bit of a runt and if he survives his first few weeks, I’d say he’d grow to a good-size if he’s anything like his mama down in that ravine.”

The sheriff clicked his tongue. “Then there’s feedin’ him. Dragons like that take a lot of meat and meat’s expensive. He can’t be eatin’ beans or veggies, not if he wants to grow big. And bone for bone or he’ll grow up weaker’n a kitten.” He snorted. “But once he fledges it shouldn’t be too hard. Bet he can go huntin’ his own food and dragons don’t need no huntin’ permits. I swear by God in heaven though, if I hear any reports of a dragon stealing goats or cows or somethin’, I’m raining hellfire on your ass, hear?”

Jesse nodded emphatically. The sheriff grunted and directed them to a seedy little bar outside of town. Their ATVs looked out of place next to the polished bikes and Jesse felt small compared to the big, burly men standing around.

“Sheriff,” one of the men said, leaning against the wall. “How you been?”

At the sheriff’s nod, Jesse stayed on his ATV and let Tsidiith but his head under his elbow. _ What is this place? _

_ I don’t know. _

The sheriff spoke to the men in quiet tones and one of them slowly approached Jesse but stopped when the first biker whistled sharply, like he was reprimanding a dog. The man stopped and peered at Jesse and Tsidiith.

He watched as the sheriff clasped hands with one of the men. “We’ll be by,” he said and the man that had approached Jesse and Tsidiith turned and walked away.

The back of his jacket read DEADLOCK REBELS.


	2. Sacrifices

**Present day**

“We need to approach this with caution,” they said. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.” That answer was insufficient but they knew better than to say that.

Hanzo stalked back to the weyrs and pressed his palms against Nix’s scales. _ I promise you _ , he-and-Mizu vowed from deep in their heart of hearts. _ We will bring him back _.

_ It is dangerous _, Nix said halfheartedly but he couldn’t handle separation like Hanzo and Mizu could. He was not well without his rider there, was distressed and dizzy with the torture and the drugs they were pumping him with.

They didn’t respond in words but instead let him feel their resolve. They would be a stone against the sea, like the Rock withstanding the pounding surf.

_ Even rocks are worn away by the water _, Nix told them tiredly but was unable to hide the surge of hope that rose in his throat.

Hanzo buried his face in Nix’s shoulder. _ We will be strong if you will be strong for us in turn _ , he-and-Mizu told Nix. _ Show us _.

After a long moment of hesitation, Nix obeyed. Thinking that Hanzo was mourning, was frustrated by their slow progress, Genji put a hand on his shoulder and said some empty platitude. Probably something along the lines of “don’t worry”.

They would worry—they _ could _, knowing that Nix was suffering so. Every strike that landed on McCree was felt by Nix; every drop of every drug forced into him was echoed in his dragon.

They would also get him back, that they swore to Nix. _ We cannot fulfil this promise if you are not also well, _ Hanzo-and-Mizu told Nix. _ You must eat and you must rest. _

Nix whined low in his throat. _ I’m not sure that I can _, he admitted, digging his claws into the sand and pawing at it. Genji backed up quickly to avoid getting sand in his joints; Hanzo ignored the waves of it crashing over him, closing his eyes to keep the stuff from blinding him.

_ We have finally found a time that you cannot eat _ , Val teased from where he was perched on the wall of the weyr, watching with worried eyes. Even that joke sounded hollow. _ Please eat, Tsidiith _. Even Hanzo-and-Mizu winced at the use of Nix’s full name.

The look that the small dragon shot at Hanzo was pained but he said nothing. It told them that he knew what they were planning but wouldn’t stop them.

Hanzo-and-Mizu felt hope rise. They nodded Hanzo’s head once. “I will speak to Reinhardt,” they said through Hanzo’s mouth. “We will get some food cooking and, in the meantime, I will bring you porridge—won’t you like that?”

_ I will stay with him _, Val assured them and glided closer to Nix, kicking up little puffs of sand as he backwinged for a neat landing.

Hanzo-and-Mizu walked through the base with nobody realizing that anything was wrong. They spoke to Reinhardt who was more than happy to help them set up a spiced roast for Nix to try to spark his appetite. After setting it up on the spit, the two of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the tables, bloody to their elbows as they chopped bits and chunks of offal and fatty cuts of meat into pieces that were easier to manage for a mourning dragon.

“I hope you’re not intending to do anything stupid,” Reinhardt said in a voice that was surprisingly quiet—they weren’t sure that they’d ever heard the former-Crusader speak so quietly.

“We’re not,” Hanzo-and-Mizu said through Hanzo’s mouth.

Because it wasn’t stupid—it was logical. This was within their skills, it made perfect sense for them to be the ones to do this for Nix.

For McCree.

Elsewhere, Mizu curled her body against Nix’s and Val watched over them with worried eyes. Nix folded his wing over her and she nuzzled his shoulder, his neck, his cheek.

Between them, just the two of them in their most secret of thoughts, they mourned that they would never feel what it was like for a proper Flight with him. It was exhilarating enough to hunt for meals with him—what would it be like for this?

They had been on other Flights, usually in the wild—they had never been Flown by another Impressed pair.

They had never been Flown by someone that they liked.

_ No _ , they corrected themselves, the realization as sudden and terrible and _ wonderful _ as a strike of lightning. _ They had never been Flown by someone that they _loved.

If Reinhardt noticed their lapse in attention, he said nothing of it. He promised to work on the spits with Brigitte as Hanzo-and-Mizu returned to Nix’s side.

Dr. Ziegler met them on the way, a jar of clear liquid in one hand. She stopped them with a raised hand. “Take this,” she said quietly. Her eyes were just as bleak as Val’s. “Don’t say anything. It’s an oral sedative. If you mix it into the porridge, he won’t even taste it.”

On one hand, they could use Nix’s strength, especially if the Reaper and Sombra were there. Nix was large enough to occupy a significant amount of Reaper’s attention; Sombra wouldn’t try to take on such a large dragon, wouldn’t get in the middle of a fight between a middleweight and heavyweight. Without them, their mission would be much more difficult, would hinge on something as silly as _ hope _.

As luck.

On the other hand, Nix was in no condition to do what they needed him to. He would try to stop them, would protest too much if they had to enact their contingency plan.

They took the jar but Dr. Ziegler wasn’t done. “Tonight, there is a storm rolling in,” she said quietly, urgently. “It’s calling for heavy rain tonight, starting around dinner and will last for a few days—I sent a communique about it to your comms.” Dinner was scheduled in another hour. “If you give it to him now, the sedative should be in full effect by then.”

She left. It was just as well.

They ducked into one of the empty weyrs and poured the sedative into the porridge, mixing it briskly. Nix may be able to smell it but it was unlikely—he was probably distracted by McCree, a thousand miles away.

Mizu distracted him as well, using her teeth to gently groom between his wings, nuzzling along his arched neck. She doted on him the way they had always wanted to dote on him and he relaxed. Hanzo fed him like he was a hatchling, one handful of porridge at a time.

Porridge was a food for sick dragons and hatchlings, after all. It was comfort as well as food for recovery. Nix held his mouth open for the last drops and Hanzo poured it carefully into his mouth.

_ I wish you would let me go with you _, he said, his inner eyelids already sliding shut. The drug wasn’t quite kicking in yet, but in combination with whatever drugs they were pumping into McCree, it would begin to affect him soon.

They cleaned Hanzo’s hands and pressed a kiss to Nix’s forehead. _ We wish _ , they told him fervently. _ But you need to be strong for him. We will bring him back _.

_ Do you promise to bring yourselves back? _ Nix asked and they didn’t answer.

Val curled up at the doorway of the weyr and watched them with sad eyes as they gathered the gear they had stored in Nix’s weyr and moved to Mizu’s.

They needed to travel light: they used Hanzo’s clever fingers to fasten her lightest harness and the lightest armor they owned. It was expensive tech and they had to call in a favor for it, but the hardlight panels stopped most bullets or at least kept them from traveling too deep past Mizu’s scales.

Next came rope, two coils of it, and an extra harness in case they had time to shove McCree into one. More likely than not, they would have to tie him with rope and hope that the rain didn’t soften the knots. If they were _ very _ lucky—and they did not trust this kind of luck—he would still be in his flight harness.

Someone, maybe Dr. Ziegler, had put a small pack of food by Mizu’s weyr: dried fruits, jerky, crackers. Light foods that would survive a trip. She included a few biotic canisters and an envelope of nanite syringes with a note in her distinctive handwriting “FOR ABSOLUTE EMERGENCY ONLY”. “Absolute” was underlined a handful of times and circled.

They loaded this to Mizu’s back and she wiggled, shaking her shoulders and bouncing in place to make sure it sat well. Only then did Hanzo climb up, pressing his knees and hands and feet into the grooves long since worn into place.

_ Safe hunting _, Val whispered to them.

_ Be safe _ , Nix said, sounding as if he were awake through stubbornness alone. _ Come back to us _.

There were many things that they could promise.

That was not one of them.

In the landing courtyard, they looked up at the sky. It seemed smaller with the presence of those heavy rainclouds that heralded the storm that Dr. Ziegler promised. The storm stretched as far as they could see in every direction.

They stretched their legs, their wings. Hanzo looked down at the comm held in his hand, emblazoned with the Overwatch logo. The other week, Genji had put a sticker on the back of the Rikimaru mascot.

It was crooked and Hanzo had been frustrated that he had done something so childish, without Hanzo’s consent. Now they both stared at such a silly little thing that they had been so upset about and thought about promises—promises that they were keeping and promises that they were breaking.

Throwing the comm aside so that they wouldn’t be tracked anywhere past the courtyard, they pretended not to hear the case crack as it skittered over the worn concrete.

With no one to see them off, they leaped off the cliff and stretched their wings to the sky.

* * *

Things very quickly went wrong.

Hanzo was shot but didn’t tell McCree; he-and-Mizu simply dragged him along, slipping as the ship pitched and rocked in the stormy seas. McCree was drugged, his eyes hazy and his mouth hanging open. When he held on to Hanzo’s hand, his grip was terrifyingly weak.

Hanzo-and-Mizu shoved open the door to the deck and found a waterfall instead. Mizu was nearly invisible in the gloom—no sane person would ask a dragon to be out in this weather, not even Reaper or Sombra.

Only they were fool enough to be out in such conditions.

Only they were _ desperate _ enough.

Hanzo’s body was flung against Mizu’s side, against the walls of the cabin; they gritted their teeth and clung stubbornly and shoved McCree over Mizu’s shoulders. His hands were bound in front of him, making it easier for Hanzo to tie him to the harness. He tied it as tightly as he dared and wrapped and wrapped the loose ends through the netting of the harness just in case the knots slipped. For good measure he also tied his flight jacket over the thin clothes that McCree wore—it wasn’t ideal but it was better than sending him up into the cold air above the clouds in thin, wet linen.

_ I love you _ , they thought fiercely and McCree turned his head sluggishly. He was slumped over Mizu’s shoulders, his long legs touching the ground as Mizu crouched. We _ love you _.

Behind them, they could hear—just barely—the sound of guns and footsteps and yelling. The world around them nearly washed the sounds away.

Mizu opened their wings and the wild winds of the storm filled them. She stumbled to her feet and charged for the edge; the movement of the ship sent her into the air.

Turning, Hanzo shot and shot and shot until he was out of arrows. They caught him but his distraction meant that they couldn’t shoot Mizu and their precious cargo down.

By the time the winds died down enough for Reaper or Sombra to take to the air, they would be long gone.

They clung to that with both hands as he fought and fought until he was shot again, until the butt of a sawed-off shotgun knocked him out.

* * *

The cold air slowly pulled McCree from his drugged fog.

His eyelids felt frozen shut and it took some time for him to be able to force his eyes open and he gasped. He’d never flown so high, never breathed such cold, clean air.

Beneath him the clouds were in hues of gold and pink and the purest white; above him the great bowl of the sky was the palest aquamarine, darkening at the edges as they flew toward the night. He looked down and found blue scales, not red, between his knees—that explained why flight felt strange.

“Mizu,” he croaked but it was whipped away by the wind.

Her wings were held steady on either side of him, gliding on a current of wind that McCree couldn’t see, could only feel. _ There is water in the packs _, she said, sounding far more exhausted than he had ever heard her. There was an odd edge to her voice but now that she mentioned it, his mouth felt filled with cotton.

More was stuffed in his skull, making it hard to think of anything more complex than his immediate needs.

_ Dr. Ziegler packed a med kit if you need it _ , Mizu added. _ There is also food—just simple jerky, chips. Be careful not to unbalance me. _

He was indeed careful—Mizu was smaller than Nix and he was unused to her flying style. Though he doubted she’d _ let _ him fall, he didn’t want to test her ability to catch him.

Looking down, he found that his wrists were bound with metal shackles; a round plug was attached to his prosthetic arm, rendering it useless. He was bound to Mizu’s saddle with coils of rope, looped around her neck and threaded through the netting of her harness, wrapped around his waist and through the shackles to keep him in place. A familiar flight jacket was buckled around him—it was crooked and soaked with water and frosted with spiderwebs of ice but it was better than nothing. 

He blamed the residual drugs in his system for not wondering more about the jacket right away. This was Hanzo’s jacket, nearly as familiar as his own, as familiar as the red and gold serape he wore on leisurely flights with Nix. 

_ How long have I been out? _ He asked her directly, rather than trying to shout again.

_ A while _, she said evasively.

He didn’t feel like arguing and managed to very carefully open his shackles and rip off the plug on his prosthesis; then he dug around in the packs for the food and water that Mizu promised. McCree ate quickly, his thoughts slowly coming back to him.

Some of his memories came back, too. He had gone on a mission without Nix—he and Hanzo had argued fiercely but they had to agree that Nix wasn’t suited for that mission. Look where it had gotten him: captured.

McCree made a face, trying to ignore the biting cold. He was still dressed in the thin linen clothes that Talon had dressed him in after his capture, which did nothing against the harsh wind and that terrible, terrible cold. Even the flight jacket strapped to him didn’t do much, completely soaked with water and frozen stiff, but it was better than nothing and it served as a buffer against the wind, at least. 

_ I’m sorry _ , Mizu told him. _ I cannot fly any lower _.

Very carefully he patted her neck. _ It’s fine _ , he assured her, his teeth chattering. _ You do what you need to do, darlin’. Where is Hanzo? _

Mizu didn’t answer.

It was a halfhearted hope, but McCree turned around in the saddle and found that the rest of Mizu’s long back was empty. They both would have been too heavy, McCree realized with a sinking heart.

That fool.

_ Mizu, turn around _ , McCree ordered. _ We need to get to Hanzo _.

She said nothing, ignored him. Her wings were steady but now that he knew the truth, he could see just how much she was hurting. There were streaks of dried blood in her beautiful scales and he could feel her exhaustion coming off of her in palpable waves.

_ Mizu, _ he begged. _ Mizu, turn around _.

She didn’t answer. Her wings held steady.

They had Hanzo.

Damn him, damn that _ idiot _.

McCree put his hands down on the straps of Mizu’s harness. He didn’t dare turn her, try to force her back around. It was just as well because she suddenly tucked her wings and _ dove _.

It was a maneuver he had seen her and Hanzo pull a thousand times—their favorite way to hunt: a steep dive that opened into a shallow glide. Only this time they weren’t hunting.

The clouds made it feel like he was drowning, made it feel like he was surrounded by smoke, like he had died and was trapped in some kind of terrible purgatory. When they landed, he would certainly feel that way, knowing that he had split up Hanzo and Mizu.

That Hanzo was trapped somewhere in the distance, was probably in Talon’s grasp, and had sent McCree and Mizu ahead, away. Had made it so that they could escape.

Suddenly they broke through the clouds and into a torrential downpour. Beneath the fluffy clouds that had seemed so beautiful from above, the world was dark and storming, the rain coming down in sheets as if he stood beneath a waterfall.

He had no idea how Mizu could possibly fly like this but she did, turning her dive into a steep glide, aiming for a dark shape in the distance. Beneath the dark clouds and rain, everything was shrouded in silvery fog, making it hard for him to see anything.

Mizu jerked and McCree would have fallen forward over her shoulder if she hadn’t arched her neck to catch him, if it hadn’t been for the ropes holding him in place. Something was shrieking, a terrible sound that felt like his soul leaving his body.

Hands touched his legs and he jerked, struggled. _ Hold still _, Val told him and he obeyed the tiny dragon.

Here in the rain, nobody could tell that he was sobbing—in relief, in the terrible grief that he shared with Mizu.

Reinhardt caught him, pulled him from the saddle with one hand while the other held his shield above his head like a glowing umbrella. He looked ridiculous, dressed in rain-soaked pajamas and barefoot in the ankle-deep puddles of the landing court while he held his great shield up. Without him wearing his armor, it looked too large for him to wield and if McCree hadn’t been so exhausted, hadn’t been so horrified at Hanzo’s choice, he would have found it hilarious.

“Where is my brother?” Genji demanded, looking waterlogged as well. He wasn’t fully dressed in his armor, wore pachimari-printed boxers and a worn shirt emblazoned with D.Va’s logo.

Behind him, McCree could _ feel _ Mizu take a deep breath; it prepared him for her next terrible shriek, that soul-killing cry that told everyone what had happened.

“Move out of the way!” someone cried and Reinhardt carried McCree aside as Mizu’s legs buckled and she fell with a crash of hardlight armor to the concrete. Her limbs and tail were akimbo, the terrible winds of the storm plucking at her spread wings, throwing them around in disarray.

She wasn’t breathing right; McCree wondered how long she had been flying.

“Get him inside,” someone said. “And someone shut that beast up!”

_ She’s no beast _, McCree wanted to snap but his exhaustion and grief were too much. He felt like a wrung-out cloth, his limbs like noodles.

“Someone get a lorry,” Reinhardt said, his voice booming over the sound of the storm and cutting through the keening of Mizu’s grief. “Easy, cowboy, I will see that she is brought inside even if I must drag her myself.”

The next thing he knew, the rain had stopped and the world was lit with golden light. It was warm here and it burned against his chilled skin, as if it agreed that he didn’t deserve such comforts.

“Easy, you’re safe,” Reinhardt murmured and McCree realized that he was sobbing, clutching weakly at his soaked pajama shirt. “Nix is right here and Angela is on her way.”

“I’ll get him,” another voice said. McCree belatedly realized that it was Brigitte. “I have dry clothes for him and I set up a cot in Nix’s weyr for him.”

Why should he be allowed to be with Nix when Hanzo and Mizu were separated?

“Here, set him down,” Brigitte continued and Reinhardt put him down. “I’ll take it from here.”

Reinhardt’s big hands cupped both of McCree’s cheeks. “You rest,” he said seriously, his voice like thunder. McCree could still hear Mizu’s shrill cries of grief, could feel it deep in his hearts, down in the very marrow of his bones. He was amazed that he wasn’t screaming, too. “I will bring Mizu here, with you and Nix. Rest, Jessito. Rest and get warm.”

He never called McCree Jessito. Only one person called him that, and even though the voice was wrong for it his body knew the words—as if a trigger word, as if he were some kind of hound to be ordered—and obeyed immediately, relaxing into the surface of the cot that he was set on.

_ I am here, _ a voice that he knew better than his own said.

_ I know, _ he said back as hands helped him out of his wet clothes and into a dry set. He couldn’t find it in him to do anything but sit there, lie there listlessly. _ But Hanzo isn’t _.

_ I asked him, _ Nix said mournfully. _ I asked him to come back to us _.

Outside, they could still hear Mizu. Brigitte’s gentle hands eased him down on his back and a thin blanket was put over him; the weyr sands were hot enough that if she gave him another blanket he would overheat.

_ Sleep _ , Nix told McCree and put his nose against McCree’s hand. _ Grief can come later _.

McCree didn’t remember closing his eyes.

* * *

He only knew what happened because he dreamed it.

He only dreamed it because Nix lay awake to witness it.

They couldn’t find a working lorry that could lift Mizu so they found a pair of hardlight pallet loaders. She was unhelpful, lying limp and sprawled out on the wet stone as she cried. Someone tried to muzzle her to get her to stop crying so terribly but Reinhardt put a stop to that.

Soon her own exhaustion kicked in and she fell silent, too tired to even grieve.

They tried to move her into the weyr next to Nix’s but Angela and Reinhardt and Brigitte all argued against it; Val dove at their heads when words at first failed. In the end they placed her next to Nix in his weyr and he curled up around her as much as he could, helping to ease her into a much more comfortable position.

He wrapped his tail around her, draped his wing over her back. She just lay there, breathing hard, her eyes unfocused and Nix tried to groom her, rubbing his nose and chin against her neck. Nix had never groomed another dragon before, hadn’t lived in the wild like Mizu and Hanzo had, so his motions were clumsy but he tried. Mizu lay limply where she lay, a pile of shining blue glass stones broken by ribbons of gold; she didn’t tease him about his lack of experience, didn’t nip playfully at him.

Nix curled his wing tighter over her but had to move it to let Ange and Val look at her. They and Brigitte very carefully pulled her kit off of her and Brigitte took it away to be cleaned and treated and dried from the abuse it had withstood to bring McCree, not its true owner, back from Talon.

He stood silent vigil as Reinhardt brought the stew he’d been working on for days and crooned despairingly when Mizu refused it, would only take the broth when it was poured into her mouth and her head urged back. Ange treated Mizu’s physical wounds, but there was a pain that neither she nor Val could reach.

“We’ll be right here,” Ange told Nix, pointing at the other cot that had been set up in another corner of his weyr. “Her injuries aren’t serious—not her physical injuries, at least. But she’s dehydrated and worn out and I’m afraid…”

Nix assured her through Val that it was fine, that he was glad for an extra set of eyes on her. He tucked his wing closer around Mizu as she lay listlessly in the sand.

Soon Reinhardt gave up, unable to get Mizu to eat more. They turned off the lights in the weyr, save for the safety lights in the hallway.

In that darkness and in the iron grasp of exhausted sleep, McCree remembered but only because Hanzo and Mizu had said it to McCree but also across the world to Nix: _ I love you. _ We _ love you _.


	3. Hope

McCree woke up to find that someone had brought him a simple meal of cold broth and bread which he devoured ravenously. He was looking around for more when Val glided into the weyr, backwinging into a bouncy landing in front of McCree’s cot and the small folding table next to him.

Standing on his haunches, Val peered at him suspiciously.  _ Angela is on her way with more food _ , he said briskly.  _ More broth. We have scans that we need to take of you to make sure that you’re at full health _ .

“It’s only been like a day,” McCree complained.

Val snorted.  _ It was  _ three _ days and even then, we aren’t sure what they had done to you. We will proceed carefully. _

That was that and McCree knew better than to argue when he got that tone. Ange arrived shortly after with another bowl of broth and vegetables. He ate it just as quickly as the first and Ange looked him over.

_ We can’t get Mizu to eat anything _ , Val told him privately.  _ She just lays there. At least she’s not screaming anymore. _

“Light work,” Ange told him. “Don’t strain yourself too hard, we’re still waiting for the bloodwork to come back.”

_ The only reason we’re even giving you that is because of Mizu _ , Val said when Ange could not.  _ If she does not eat, the both of them will die _ .

McCree and Nix couldn’t possibly recreate Mizu’s amazing flight—for one, Nix wasn’t meant for flying at that altitude or that distance. For another, McCree was too weak for that, even his pride couldn’t allow him to deny it. Nor would they allow anyone else on Nix’s back to make the flight, even if he could.

No, it had to be the  _ Orca _ . Which meant fuel and meant planning.

Those things took time and given Mizu’s despondency…that wasn’t the kind of time that she and Hanzo had. Not if someone didn’t do something.

_ I need Reinhardt _ , McCree told Ange through Val.  _ We need to make stew. No, we need to make chili. _ Mentally, he recited the recipe to himself.  _ I need someone to go into town to get the spices I need and cheese—a lot of cheese _ .

Val scowled at McCree.  _ Dragons cannot eat cheese _ .

_ It’s a meat protein, _ McCree argued back.  _ It’ll be fine _ .

Above them, Nix snorted as he leaned down to nuzzle affectionately at McCree’s arm.  _ I turned out alright, didn’t I? _

“Debatable,” Ange said out loud after Val translated for her. “We’ll arrange it.”

Very carefully, McCree pushed himself to his feet. He felt weak but his legs were still steady for the moment. Nix of course needed to be soothed and McCree spent some time running his hands over Nix’s scales, basking in his presence.

Since Nix had hatched, they hadn’t spent more than a week apart. Not even in Blackwatch which was…honestly surprising given how large and obvious Nix was. Even then, those terrible times were of their own free will. Not like this.

Nothing like this.

This wasn’t like the stories— _ they _ weren’t like the stories of dragon and rider pair. Yes, they were Impressed and yes, they knew each other’s thoughts but they were not soul-bound as the stories and movies liked to say.

But Nix had ever been by his side, had never judged McCree for his choices just as he had never judged Nix for his. They were each other’s confidant when they could trust nobody else—when Reyes and Reaper chased them away from Blackwatch, all about ordered them to flee.

They were there for each other after Ashe, were each other’s escape when Deadlock tried to swallow them whole. With Ashe, they were treated like some kind of royalty, but only because Ashe wanted Nix and to get him, she needed to get McCree, too. It hadn’t sat well with them but she had paid off their debts to the Deadlock Gang—the original ones, the ones that had given him money and food to feed and care for Nix until he fledged and they could hunt on their own.

With Ashe, they were no longer lean; they both grew like weeds and the lightweight they had thought Nix to be turned out to be nearly a heavyweight. It had been through Bob and Nix that Ashe had taken control of the Deadlock Gang and fed their bodies to the hungry mouth of the Gorge.

Then Blackwatch had snatched them up. For all Nix’s striking, unique coloring he was powerful and he was steady. It was just luck, it seemed, that McCree was brought along.

If Reaper hadn’t realized that they were an Impressed pair, McCree would have been taken away and Nix…well, they don’t know what would have happened to Nix. Drugged to accept another rider, perhaps? It was unlikely, at least in the depths of their own minds, but they simply didn’t know.

More than likely they would have kept Nix and drugged him until he was nearly mindless. Then, when McCree died in jail—from neglect, from a fight, from suicide at the dead-feeling he was getting from Nix—he would waste away to nothing.

Like Mizu was preparing to do.

McCree’s heart ached; so did Nix’s. He took a deep breath and with a final pat between Nix’s nostrils, he turned to find that Mizu was watching them with longing in her bleak, golden eyes.

He knew that pain, that echo on the other side, that sensation of reaching for something that’s not there. He had experienced something like that when he lost his arm; he had the slightest taste of that, as one human can miss another, with Hanzo.

Instead he walked to her head, bold in a way that he had never been with her, and held out both of his hands. It would be her choice to rest her chin on his hands, to accept what little comfort he could offer.

To his surprise, she almost immediately shoved her head into his hands with a sad little croon. Like a lonely nestling.

Her head was smaller than his Nix’s, felt more delicate. It made sense, given that her breed ancestry involved Japanese Glass dragons, the finest bred by the Shimada breeders. They were small things, lightweights made for their pretty scales and gentle bearing rather than for any practical use. Whatever breed or breeds that they had crossed Mizu with had given her the size and aggression she had—the size and aggression that made Nix so smitten with her.

It felt so strange to handle her. She and Hanzo had always been so distrustful of others and McCree could hardly blame them, even knowing just a tiny bit of what they had gone through. 

So, McCree hunched his shoulders over her delicate face, ran his fingers along her jaw to scratch where he had seen Hanzo rub his knuckles affectionately. He pressed his face to her snout and wrapped his arms around her neck. “Are you hungry?” he asked her in a soft voice.

_ I cannot eat _ , she said simply. He didn’t ask why.

“Can you move?” McCree asked. “Maybe we’ll take you to the courtyard for a good sand bath.”

From the distant drumming, it was still storming but fortunately, the courtyard for the sand baths was shaded. He never knew why there was a separate courtyard for sand baths, not when there were so many weyrs with sand pits for the dragons. But perhaps to dragons, it was like taking a bath in the bedroom.

_ I cannot move _ , Mizu told him wearily. Her limbs and wings were still splayed awkwardly and McCree realized that it might  _ literally _ be that she couldn’t move, her body worn and exhausted from her amazing flight. Nix shifted and stood over her; she didn’t even mantle her wings, didn’t even offer him a token hiss.

Very gently Nix began nudging her into a more comfortable position, stretched out over the warm sands with her wings half-spread to bake out the strained muscles. From Nix, McCree knew that her wounds were all treated and healed with biotics.

That did not mean that she was well.

Mizu sighed and McCree pressed his face into her glassy scales.  _ I’m so sorry, _ he told her directly. He would have said so out loud but emotion clenched around his throat in an iron grip.

She turned her head slightly.  _ We made our choice _ , she said simply. As if it had been an easy choice between them and McCree.

McCree’s throat closed off miserably.  _ You made the wrong choice _ .

_ We didn’t _ .

It was said so casually but with such conviction that McCree felt unbalanced. He tensed his legs to keep himself upright and hugged Mizu’s head closer, tried not to cry.

He still remembered that voice through Nix:  _ I love you.  _ We _ love you _ .

That was enough time to spent being weepy. He took a deep breath. There was work to be done.

* * *

Tens or maybe hundreds or maybe thousands of miles away, a prisoner lifted his head.

Words were whispered in the distance against the neck of his dragon. Calloused hands ran over her scales, sloughing off shed and polishing them to a vibrant shine. Each talon was sharpened to deadly points and then buffed them until they shone like obsidian.

A man sat beside her head, feeding her bowls of fragrant stew, one at a time like a hatchling. He coaxed her to eat, to drink; the man’s dragon curled his wing over…over…it was hard to remember her name but he felt it deep in his heart, echoing with each beat.

_ Raitsu. Raitsu _ .

He gained strength from her, with each kind touch and word. It gave him an escape from torture and torment, drew him away into a place where his captors couldn’t reach.

By the end of the day, he had forgotten that he was  _ he _ , that he had ever thought that he had been alone. Now they were together; in one mind and two bodies.

Their captors only had one piece of them; the other was safe, basking beneath the most tender care of a man they loved.

* * *

“This is unhealthy,” Genji insisted when McCree shambled into the mess hall. “This…obsession.”

McCree ignored him. He ignored Genji a lot these days.

“It’s not an obsession,” Brigitte told Genji hotly.

“You’re spoiling her,” Genji growled. “We need her and Nix to be combat-ready.”

Solider: 76 somehow managed to sip his coffee without taking off his mask. “She’s mind-broken,” he said, the authority in his voice making Genji falter. Reyes had trained him well and McCree’s heart clenched at the thought of their old wingleader.

“It’s one of the reasons it’s so dangerous to have an Impressed pair in combat,” Soldier: 76 continued. “They have their uses, it’s true, but it’s a two-way street. If one is captured, the other is useless.”

Hana shorted into her coffee. “Dragons in general are useless,” she complained as she always did when the topic came up. “Just do what Korea did:  _ MEKAs _ .” She sipped her coffee. “Instead of training beast handlers, put the money into education. Train engineers that do more for society in the long run. A dragon does little against Gwishin.”

“I had a dragon in the Crisis,” Soldier: 76 said after a heavy pause. “She was…” he trailed off and McCree privately wondered what had happened to the dragon that everyone had jokingly called Corncob for the farm boy that captained her.

She had hated the name, could barely stand Morrison. McCree was amazed by her, by the beautiful golden hue of her scales. Her coloring went from the palest gold that was nearly white to a shade that was nearly orange. When her scales were polished and she stood in the sunlight, she shone like a beacon.

Nix had once told him her actual name, but McCree forgot it; officially, she was known as Helisa, a variation of the Greek god Helios who drove across the sky in a chariot. Only  _ she _ was the chariot that traveled the sky like a shining sun.

“More than once she saved my life,” Soldier: 76 continued. “You would be surprised what a dragon can do against an omnic.”

At the stove, Reinhardt grunted. He handed McCree a plate piled high with food. “Eat,” he told McCree sternly. He turned to Hana. “We had dragons too. And fire-lizards were assigned to each group. If you dropped an EMP, you would not lose communications. A well-trained dragon could do a lot of damage to a squad of OR-14s or Bastion models—especially the firebreathers.”

Grumbling, Hana had nothing to say to that and that situation, at least, was resolved.

“When will she be fighting ready?” Genji asked McCree, sitting down across from him as he began to eat. “We’ll need her speed if we want to stand up against Sombra.”

McCree shook his head and took a big bite of food. “She won’t be going,” McCree said. Genji flinched and looked away—he’d never liked it when McCree talked with his mouth full. “Maybe not Nix, either. This is a deathtrap.” He chewed and swallowed his mouthful. “What I’ve heard, the target’s a ship. The best way they can keep Nix and Mizu away? Go out to sea. If we take the dragons, they would be too tired to fly combat and then away. They’d have to land and then be vulnerable to capture.”

“That’s ill hearing,” Soldier: 76 said. “And makes it harder to locate them for a proper rescue.”

“We still need to try,” Genji said stubbornly. Both McCree and Soldier: 76 ignored him. “If Mizu made the flight once, she can make it again.”

Making a face, McCree took another big bite of food, chewed, and swallowed. He still hesitated to speak. Most thought that dragons were just animals—few believed in Impression these days; even fewer believed that there were those few people that can “hear” dragons.

He had never understood it, but concluded that perhaps people simply thought that “Impress” was an archaic term. What did people think when people talked about Impressed pairs? But that wasn’t always a problem for him to deal with.

Soldier: 76 probably knew about McCree’s ability; McCree wasn’t sure if he knew about Hanzo’s.

“Their voice,” McCree said tiredly. “It’s changing. It’s just Mizu anymore.”

In the past, Soldier: 76 had never been a true wingleader, had only been one in name as he paraded Helisa through the sky or through the streets. Reyes dealt with the Blackwatch dragons himself with Reaper establishing dominance over every other dragon under their command.

But after Zurich, McCree was certain that Soldier: 76 knew what he was saying.

He slammed his mug down in alarm, sloshing coffee over his fist and the table. If it burned, he showed no sign of it. “They’re merging?”

“What does that mean?” Genji demanded.

There was nothing gained by ignoring Genji now. McCree piled a slice of toast with another fried egg and slices of sausage; he took a big bite and hummed happily. “After Zurich, it’s said that Reyes went mad and merged his mind with his dragon.”

“That’s why he talks like he’s a dragon,” Genji grumbled. There was no denying that Reaper was with Talon—they knew the dragon’s distinct markings and that terrible, shrieking wail anywhere. “But Reyes is dead.”

McCree and Soldier: 76 traded glances. This was the truth that they had all been skirting, the topic that nobody wanted to talk about.

“It’s Reyes under that mask,” Soldier: 76 said tiredly. “Or, what’s left of him. They are the Reaper, now—both of them.”

McCree nodded. “We—Nix and I—encountered him. And I saw him— _ them _ —on the ship.”

“You must’ve seen wrong,” Genji said flatly. “Reyes is dead and Talon must’ve caught Reaper.”

Nobody said anything for a while. This was a minefield and no one at the table knew how to maneuver through it. At last, Mei cleared her throat. She had experience with dragons, had worked with the base’s trained fire lizards while in Antarctica, though her experience was limited mostly to the wild dragons in the snow and ice, not the breeds most often used by the military.

“I had never heard of such a thing,” she said very slowly. “But I’m not entirely familiar with certain aspects of…dragonkeeping.” She looked around. “But…I have a basic idea of Impression. That’s how I trained Snowball.”

Hearing his name, the fire lizard chirped and poked his head above the table. Mei ran her fingers over the pale blue nubs on his spine. Snowball was a peculiar type of fire lizard, from a species endemic to Antarctica that for decades hadn’t been Impressed, due to their eggs resembling dark grey river stones rather than the eggs of any recognizable dragon. While Mei wasn’t the first to Impress, she was certainly  _ one of _ the first and one of the most accomplished with hers.

Unlike nearly every other species of fire lizard he was covered in springy, waterproof fur like a seal; his wings were feathered. He was stockier as well and when he had curled his tail and wings in on himself, he looked closer to the snowball that Mei had named him for, a hemisphere of fluff with two blue eyes.

He clambered out of her lap and curled up in such a pose on the table, arching his neck like an egret as he watched the goings-on of the breakfast table.

Looking around, McCree found that everyone, even Hana, was looking at him. Soldier: 76’s look was less curious and was more questioning:  _ do you want to explain, or shall I? _

McCree took another bite of his breakfast sandwich and shook his head at Soldier: 76—it was his responsibility as wingleader, albeit a wingleader of two, to educate the rest of their small team.

He chewed and swallowed. “Fire lizards are a little different than my Nix. Not to say that they aren’t as intelligent, but simply intelligent in a different way. Nix speaks in words; fire lizards speak in emotions. Images. In some ways they’re more precise in their speaking though they may have issues conveying what happened.”

Snowball chirped at him and he reached out to dig a finger under his chin. He crooned and leaned into the caress.

“Merging happens…it happens so infrequently,” McCree hesitated. “It’s hard to describe. Think of it this way: me and Nix? We speak our own language to each other, but we’re still two different people. Or it’s like we have a direct line to each other—I know what he says and he knows what I say, all the time.”

Hana smirked. “In your ‘secret language’,” she said, an edge of mocking in her voice.

He ignored the dig. Nobody who hadn’t experienced Impression—whether dragon or fire lizard—could quite understand that profound bond. “Yes. Thing is, that kind of…mental connection…well, it’s easy to blur the lines and forget who is who. That’s what Reyes and Reaper did—and that’s what I’m afraid that Hanzo and Mizu are doing as well.”

“The problem is,” Genji said testily. “Is that Hanzo and Mizu are not Impressed. That’s an archaic and barbaric process. The Shimada Clan would never have allowed such a thing. In any case, Mizu is  _ my _ dragon that Hanzo had adopted after…” he trailed off, gesturing to his body. 

McCree frowned deeply. “Well they must have,” he growled. “That would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?” Very suddenly he was tired, wanted to be back with the dragons who didn’t ask him stupid questions like this.

Not for the first time he almost envied Hanzo and Mizu’s self-imposed exile into the wilds. Life was simpler while on the run, when it was just him and Nix.

He took another bite of his sandwich and was grateful when Soldier: 76 said, “You idiot.  _ Think _ . There surely must have been signs of Impression. How did you gain Mizu?”

“She was a dead-end breed,” Genji said, clearly surprised to be questioned. “I thought she looked pretty and was jealous that Hanzo would get a dragon but I wouldn’t.”

“So, she was given to you?”

Genji cocked his head. “What are you getting at?”

Soldier: 76 toyed with his napkin and looked at his scarred hands, now pink after spilling hot coffee over them. “Just a thought,” he said in an absentminded kind of way that was anything but. “That if the heir—whether one of or the next in line—were to Impress a dragon…shouldn’t it be the best of the stock? A big dragon to show power, perhaps? Or perhaps a mid-sized one to walk beside him like a loyal hound. They would have to be perfect, shouldn’t they? The perfect breed, the perfect conformation. Most importantly:  _ male _ .”

For a long moment everyone was silent. Most wore a confused look, as if wondering why those details were important.

McCree’s stomach sank. He knew, of course, as soon as Soldier: 76 said it. In some ways he had always known but it made it real to hear it out loud.

Next to him, Mei gasped. “Oh, no.”

“What?” Hana demanded impatiently. “Spit it out.”

Reinhardt hummed. “An archaic belief,” he said, voice a low rumble. He sounded unsure, as if reluctant to believe such a thing.

“An archaic belief for a clan that is steeped in traditionalism,” Soldier: 76 pointed out. He turned back to Genji who seemed to be lost in thought. It was difficult to tell just what he was thinking and McCree hoped that he was finally connecting the dots. “So, imagine your young heir walked into the weyrs and Impressed a dragon. Not just any dragon, but a dragon of an experimental breed. An imperfect breed by the Shimada, who bred for beauty and not war.”

Hana seemed to understand immediately. “What good is an heir like that?” she asked quietly. “One who would be visible at all times. If word got out, it would ruin Hanzo’s image. The heir to a breeding clan choosing something so…”

“Ugly,” Genji said dully. “I remember hearing them call her that. They considered breeding her for her scales but determined that everything else about her was just so terrible that it would be better to scrap her experiment altogether. Her claws, her fangs, her aggression, her conformation…” he looked down at the table. “Hanzo was the first-born son of the  _ oyabun _ and his bride from the Ueoka clan, who were known for their dragon breeding. This would have been…shameful.”

Reinhardt nodded. “Shameful enough that they would give away the dragon rather than allow people to know about the Impression. Shameful enough to force someone to pretend that they weren’t Impressed.”

“It became more than just his place in the hierarchy,” Soldier: 76 murmured. “It became the shame of the family. Let the youngest son, the spoiled son, take the imperfect dragon; let the one who would become the face of the Shimada take a dragon more befitting his rank.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, McCree picked up his plate and left.

* * *

He didn’t mean to ask Mizu and Hanzo about it. It would be like peeling away a scab; it would potentially leave even deeper scars behind.

In his defense, they brought it up in their peculiar new voice.  _ I’m sure Genji is asking when we should be able to fly _ .

“You’re not well,” he told them automatically as he buffed the scales along the top of Mizu’s neck. They shone like the most expensive glass tiles and McCree sighed to see them. “Perhaps if you would eat more, then maybe we can send you out. But…”

_ He is asking that we would carry him, _ they said with dry humor.  _ He had never sat well in the saddle. We fear that he would fall if he flew combat. _

“So, he’s ridden before.”

_ A long time ago _ .  _ Shortly after he was old enough to be allowed to, they put a saddle on us and the older yardmasters would let us fly around. It was the first time in a long time that we had seen the sky.  _ Mizu took a great breath and sighed. Nix immediately turned his head and nuzzled at hers, rubbing his snout against her neck.  _ They were executed for their gall _ .

McCree’s hands stilled. “What?”

_ Female dragons only fly to mate _ , they said bitterly.  _ And they did not want us to Fly for fear that we would disgrace their precious heir. So they killed those that allowed Genji to do so but did not so much as reprimand him for his crimes _ .

It explained so much. McCree traded glances with Nix over Mizu’s shoulders. They had never taken flying for granted, had always enjoyed it, but now the simple and obvious joy that Hanzo and Mizu took when they were in the air…

The freedom of choosing.

Of being more than just breeding stock.

It was just as well that Mizu and Hanzo had fallen silent again, back to their waking sleep. McCree’s hands were shaking.

He returned to buffing her scales, stopping every few moments to scrub tears from his face.

* * *

The message appeared on McCree’s comm with no indication of who sent it.

McCree knew, though.

_ Meet at the cliffs. 19:45 _ .

Leaving Nix with Mizu, he ran to the cliffs just in time to see Sombra appear. He backwinged, kicking up a ferocious wind, before landing delicately and folding his wings along his spine.

The one that McCree had always called Liv climbed down, patting the dragon Sombra’s shoulder affectionately. Without preamble, she said, “They have decided that he’s useless to them, now. He’s in a catatonic state and they are furious that they had wasted so much time and resources on him and that his dragon had not come running.”

“She’s injured,” McCree told her, even knowing it was a bad idea.

The larger Sombra snorted.  _ We know _ .

McCree ignored him. Liv grinned. “I will give you the coordinates.”

“What’s your price?” McCree demanded.

Sombra fluttered his wings. It was Liv that said, “We are paying back a favor we owe.”

_ She sounds  _ thrilled, Nix said absently, listening through McCree.

If the larger Sombra heard, he gave no sign. His eerily black eyes bored into McCree. He couldn’t help but think of the old saying,  _ if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes back into thee _ .

“Where?” McCree asked at last.

Liv opened one of the pouches on the larger Sombra’s shoulder and pulled out a piece of paper. She held it between two fingers as if afraid that it would bite. “Himself insisted,” she sneered and walked over to McCree to hand it to him. “Old-fashioned, those ornery bastards.”

By some unseen signal, the larger Sombra offered a leg to help Liv mount up. It wasn’t strictly needed, since he was only a little taller than a horse, but it let her look that much more dramatic as she walked up his arm to sit sidesaddle on his back.

Though frustrating beyond belief, she was still one of the best dragonriders that McCree had ever met.

“Don’t be late,” Liv warned, not moving to throw her leg over the larger Sombra’s shoulders. He’d seen her make such exits and wasn’t surprised when the larger Sombra merely tipped over the edge. Still, he moved closer to watch them fall and twist; the larger Sombra snapped his wings open and beat them once, twice, before disappearing  _ between _ .

Shaking his head, McCree opened the note and found sets of coordinates and notes. Printed communiques between Moira and Ogundimu. Lab notes, supply forms; medical charts.

He needed to plan; he needed Soldier: 76.

Turning, he ran back to base, feeling hope for the first time in a long time.


	4. Truth

Winston forbade them from acting on the information, citing concerns of the veracity of what was provided. It was fair to be concerned, and logical considering that it had been the Sombra Collective that provided the information, but this was more than logic.

Naturally, they planned to go anyway and Nix was large enough to carry three.

McCree and Nix very carefully didn’t tell Mizu and Hanzo what was happening, not wanting to make them worry.

Not wanting to give them false hope.

They gathered their gear and Brigitte and Reinhardt agreed to make sure that Mizu ate in their absence, to do all they could to keep her alive and well. In the dead of night two days after Sombra provided their information, they climbed aboard Nix and prepared to leave. Ange had given them sedatives to give Mizu but she hadn’t wanted to eat and they didn’t want to inject the sedative into her directly—they weren’t sure, given her torpor, if it would work or if it would kill her. They just hoped that what she had ingested would be enough.

Nix was just opening his wings when they heard a terrible wail. Then Mizu and Hanzo were screaming,  _ NO! _

“What is it?” Soldier: 76 asked gruffly, twisting in the saddle to look back toward the weyrs. “What’s wrong with her?”

McCree could feel Hanzo and Mizu’s fear, their despair, enough to make him feel sick. If they were afraid, they had never shown it, only their heart-stopping despair. Now he was afraid that they were afraid.  _ What’s wrong? _ He asked them.  _ What’s wrong? _

There was a brief moment while Mizu paused to breathed; then she screamed again. In the part of his head where he heard dragons, they screamed,  _ DON’T LEAVE US ALONE! _

It broke his heart.  _ Never, _ he and Nix promised.  _ We will _ never _ leave you _ .

Mizu fell silent and they hoped that their promise and reassurance was enough to get her to settle. “We need to go,” Soldier: 76 hissed urgently. “That wailing was enough to wake the base. We need to go before they decide to catch us.”

They wouldn’t, McCree knew. The  _ Orca _ conveniently wouldn’t fly, not until morning—he knew that Lena wouldn’t chase them down if Winston ordered her to. She had been there, had heard that terrible wail of fire lizards when their humans died; she had watched them go  _ between _ for the last time, had held her breath for them to return even knowing that they wouldn’t.

Fire lizards weren’t dragons and McCree had seen that terrible understanding in Lena’s face when Mizu had first begun screaming when she saved McCree. Dragons making that terrible wail…she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

“Right,” McCree said and Nix spread his wings.

They were just taking off when a glittering shape appeared in the courtyard, as clumsy and ungainly as a new hatchling. Nix couldn’t turn to look but McCree could, careful to not unbalance Nix.

It was Mizu. She spread her wings, the lights of the courtyard shining on her scales. Her skin hung loosely on her frame; she had lost weight, would have wasted away to nothing if McCree had not begged her to eat, had not fed her by hand as if she were a hatchling.

He wasn’t sure if she was up to flying. She hadn’t ever tried, though Ange and Val had proclaimed that she was healthy enough to do so, that the muscles she had strained to injury were healed.

_ Maybe she just hadn’t had incentive _ , Nix thought as they gained height.  _ I don’t know if she’s up for this flight _ .

Mizu was panting in the landing courtyard, watching them fly away.  _ Don’t leave us alone _ , they said, softer this time.

Then, just as McCree feared that she would, Mizu charged at the edge of the cliff, her long wings held open. For a terrifying moment she held herself suspended in midair as she leaped before gravity dug its hooks into her.

Her wings arched, filled with the winds of the sea cliff, and then she began to glide. Heart in his throat, he watched her beat her wings once, twice.

“What is she doing?” Soldier: 76 hissed and only then did McCree remember that he had never been able to hear dragons, not even Helisa.

McCree swallowed the lump in his throat. “She doesn’t want us to leave her behind.”

“She’ll slow us down,” Soldier: 76 grumbled. “Look at her—she’s injured. Doesn’t she think that we’ll come back to her?”

_ I asked Hanzo to come back, _ Nix said suddenly.  _ But he did not. They’re afraid that the same thing will happen to us _ .

McCree’s heart rose in his throat.  _ We will come back, _ he promised Mizu and Hanzo who was listening.  _ We promise—nothing will keep us from coming back to you. _

_ We keep our promises _ , Nix added.  _ And we promise, from the bottom of our hearts, that we will be back. We will not leave you alone _ .

Mizu hovered indecisively.  _ Go back, _ McCree urged her gently.  _ We will bring Hanzo back and we will come back to you. _ McCree could see Brigitte and Reinhardt in the landing courtyard. Val was gliding over, landing on the Crusader’s shoulder; where he was, Ange was never far behind.

_ You cannot promise that _ , Hanzo and Mizu said, but lethargy was creeping back, was clinging to Mizu’s wings and making them beat slower.

_ No, _ McCree agreed.  _ But we will anyway, and you know that we keep our promises. Go back, let them take care of you—we’ll see you soon _ .

Mizu tucked her wings and glided toward the beach instead of attempting the cliff again.

_ Of course, she needs to be difficult _ , Val grumbled halfheartedly.  _ We will fetch her; go. _

Nix turned his wings and they flew hard through the night. None of them noticed the dark shape that watched them, silhouetted against the moon. The shape, and his rider, disappeared  _ between _ .

* * *

They saw Reaper before they saw anyone else. He was just as striking as he was in Blackwatch: scales like carved ebony and vibrant red markings. There were streaks along his muzzle and front talons, white as bone—it was were the portion of them that used to be Reyes drew inspiration for his mask.

_ Ingrate _ , Reaper said, not looking up from where he cleaned his talons. He spread his paw to inspect his work before moving on to the next.

The part of Reaper that used to be Reyes said, “He’s been sedated, but I don’t know how long it will last.” He sounded part-dragon, his voice rougher than McCree had ever remembered him sounding.

“Why tell us to come here if you’re going to do all the work?” Soldier: 76 demanded.

Reaper turned his head toward the old soldier and bared his ivory fangs.  _ Are you complaining? _ Both of them asked, echoing in the speech of dragons and booming through the human-shaped part of them.  _ Or would you have preferred watching his poor dragon waste away while everyone sat around with their thumbs up their asses? _

Looking around, McCree saw that indeed there were bodies littering the clearing. Just into the trees, there was what looked to be an old shack; there were more bodies there and blood on the old wood of the shack.

An entrance to whatever facility had held Hanzo, no doubt. How they moved here—or why—was beyond McCree.

Reaper returned to cleaning blood from his talons.

_ Ingrate _ , Reaper said to him and Nix alone, sounding almost affectionate.  _ Your skills of observation haven’t improved, we see _ .

They didn’t reply to that; instead, McCree asked, “Where is he?”

At Reaper’s gesture, they found Hanzo lying beneath a tree and McCree tried not to weep in horror. “They tried to reprogram him,” the human portion of Reaper grumbled. “They tried to make a puppet out of him, just like they had with Widowmaker—only, he was attached to a dragon.”

_ I wonder if it would have worked so well if Amélie had a dragon _ , the larger Reaper mused.  _ He is safe to move _ .

Swearing, Soldier: 76 helped McCree to load the unconscious body of Hanzo—uncomfortably still, like a corpse—to Nix’s back where they carefully strapped him to the harness.

Reaper watched them silently, the human-shaped one with his arms across his chest; the dragon-shaped one continued to clean his talons. “There is one last thing,” the one that used to be Reyes said.

“There always is,” Soldier: 76 spat, his gloves creaking as he tightened his grip on his rifle.

The dragon Reaper got to his feet and stretched his wings; the human Reaper swung into the saddle as easy as breathing. Then they both moved, quick as lightning and smooth as water: Reaper opened his jaws wide, baring his terrible, yellowed fangs and charged at them.

* * *

Angela was there to catch Hanzo’s body as they gently lowered him from Nix’s back. The poor thing needed to stretch himself out on his belly and Ange needed Reinhardt’s height to get him on the stretcher. Grabbing the bars on the side, she hauled the gurney and its pitiful burden down the hall. Baptiste, who had evidently arrived while McCree and Soldier: 76 were gone, raced after her.

“You look terrible,” Brigitte scolded. “What happened to you?’

Nix snorted. “We ran into Reaper,” McCree said tiredly. “Got quite a bit of buckshot to peel out of his scales.”

“As if that’s a turnoff,” Brigitte grumbled. “Come on, let’s get you two to the wash racks.”

This time it was McCree’s turn to snort. “So, you mean that peeling bullets out of a dragon’s hide turns you on?” he laughed weakly when Brigitte punched his shoulder.

He wouldn’t have been able to handle Nix’s gear without Brigitte and it wasn’t until the last of his armor was off that McCree remembered that he had another responsibility. “Go,” Brigitte said when she figured out why he had frozen. “I’ll still take a bit of time just moving his armor aside.”

Nix plopped his ass down and lay on his side, sighing tiredly. Fearlessly, Brigitte reached out and patted his shoulder where it wasn’t scored by Reaper’s claws.

Thanking her, he ran back to Nix’s weyr where he found Genji sitting in the doorway and Mizu curled up in the furthest corner she could find. “I was—”

“Don’t care,” McCree said brusquely, walking past Genji. At the sound of his voice, Mizu lifted her head. She looked even thinner. “I thought you would have eaten while I was gone.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response, burying her face in his chest. Her golden eyes were intense.

“He’s in Medical now,” McCree said in response to her unspoken question. “Ange and Baptiste’ve got him. He’s fine. Or…he  _ will _ be.”

Mizu leaned close and he boldly wrapped his arms around her neck.  _ You came back. That’s the most important thing, _ Mizu whispered, even her voice sounding weak.

“It’s not,” McCree whispered. “Hanzo…”

_ You have not left us alone. You have kept your promise _ . Mizu sighed and pulled away slowly. She curled up and lay down.

Unnerved, McCree returned to the wash racks and Nix who lifted his head. Brigitte was nowhere to be found, no doubt moving Nix’s armor to its proper place.  _ I thought  _ we  _ had abandonment issues _ .

Nix sat up enough for McCree to wrap his arms around his neck.  _ We are the only ones who understand them, _ Nix pointed out.  _ For once, there is someone here that knows them. Not even Genji does and Val and Ange’s relationship is different than his and Mizu’s. They’re close, closer than anyone save maybe Reaper. For so many years, they had no one but themselves…and now they have us. _

_ I almost wish they didn’t _ , McCree admitted, gripping Nix’s neck tightly. The tight ball of emotions that he had kept wound up in his chest was beginning to crumble.

_ You would let them remain alone? _

McCree squeezed Nix’s neck tighter. He wouldn’t be able to hurt Nix like this; he could squeeze as tight as he wanted.  _ Never _ , he hissed.  _ But…to do all of this… _

He swayed as Nix lifted his head higher.  _ They love us, _ Nix said simply, as if it was obvious. As if he saw something that McCree couldn’t see. He often did so McCree had no reason to doubt him but at the same time, there was still doubt that whispered in him that Nix was wrong.

Nix huffed.  _ They love us, _ he said gently.  _ They told us themselves. That was why they sacrificed so much for us—and we love them, which is why we were willing and ready to risk so much for them. _

When Nix put it that way, it was obvious. McCree thought of how skittish Hanzo and Mizu had been around them, around the whole team. How they had let the team bully them into dragonback rides until McCree had arrived and put a stop to that indignity. That alone told McCree how little they cared for themselves.

But as they continued to open up, as they grew closer to McCree and Nix as their wingleaders (albeit of a wing of two), that didn’t change. Oh, Hanzo took care of Mizu as much as any dragoner could wish: sanding and buffing her scales to a mirror shine at the faintest hint of shed—at any excuse to do so. Feeding her and watering her before he looked to his own care, inspecting her gear before and after each flight. Polishing her terrible talons and protecting the tips with small wax caps to preserve their sharpness.

Just, now their care extended to McCree and Nix. Mizu sometimes brought extras from her kills back for him, especially if it was something they thought that Nix had never tried; Hanzo found trinkets and information of other dragons that he brought back to McCree. They would stay up for hours, drinking together on the cliffs or in the weyrs while Hanzo described the dragons he’d seen.

And Hanzo was a phenomenal dragoner, himself. It was to be expected as the child of such prominent breeders, and as one of those rare few that could speak to all dragons. He offered amazing insights to draconic behavior that McCree had never considered—and his time spent in the wilds meant that he had seen so many of these behaviors first-hand.

Had witnessed so many things that McCree had not. Dragons he’d never even  _ dreamed _ of, behaviors and quirks that he had never considered.

They did so many things for others—brought back food from their hunts for Val and Snowball, spent so much time with McCree and Nix—but cared so little for themselves. Debased themselves to servitude for those unworthy of it.

_ We are worthy of nice things _ , Nix told him, sounding amused.  _ As are they. _

McCree pressed his face to Nix’s scales.  _ Am I though? _ He asked.  _ I was their wingleader and… _

Nix’s sighed and his burning breath ruffled McCree’s hair and clothes.  _ Not  _ was _ , you  _ are. We _ are. And we had not led them astray but gave them reason enough to disobey orders for our sake. We have their loyalty—and their love, both of which are theirs to give freely. Now is not the time for questions like  _ why _ —it is time for questions like  _ what shall we do about it?

_ You always  _ were _ smarter than I was _ .

Above and around him, Nix chuckled.  _ I know _ , he said smugly.  _ But you just think too much about silly things. I am more practical—all dragons are. _

Laughing wetly—he had begun crying again at some point, and he scrubbed at his tears—he pulled away from Nix. “Smartass,” he said out loud.

_ I am _ .

He grabbed a brush and a bucket of sand and got to work.

* * *

It was days before Hanzo woke up, the time made longer by his injuries, the drugs in his system, and Angela’s need to keep him in Medical. They all agreed that healing would go faster if he had access to Mizu, but he was in such poor shape that moving him to the weyrs was impossible.

So they made do, brought Mizu to the window so she could snake her head in. Brigitte and Reinhardt improvised with pallet loaders and lorries to build a platform that she could climb and rest. At night, McCree and Nix escorted her back to the weyrs—it was too cold for her to be comfortable, exposed on the windy cliffs. McCree gave her another good buff and polish, coaxed her to eat, and Nix curled up with her to sleep.

They were both silently relieved that she made no move to return to her weyr. There was something amazing about shifting the mattress of his cot between the two dragons, something wonderful falling asleep with the warmth of the sand beneath him, hemmed in by the towering cliffs of their two dragons, of hearing the deep and steady rasping of their breath.

The night before Hanzo would wake up, McCree opened his eyes to find Mizu looking down at him. Her eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the weyr, the flecks of gold in her scales and eyes shining in the safety lights in the hallway.

With a shaking hand he reached up and touched her snout, swallowing hard when she tipped her head into his touch, just as he had seen her do with Hanzo. Sighing—her breath feeling cool like the salt air, the opposite of Nix’s desert-hot breath—she rested her head near his and closed her eyes. McCree didn’t remember falling asleep again, his hand on Mizu’s scales and his back warmed by Nix’s shoulder.

The next time he woke up, it was because Val landed on his stomach.

He was treated to an amazing—and  _ terrifying _ —view of Mizu’s double-row of fangs, palest ivory and shiny black like obsidian as she hissed at Val.

“ _ Val _ ,” McCree wheezed. Though he was the size of a medium-sized dog and weighed much less than his bulk would imply, he was still heavy enough and had dropped from high enough that McCree lost his breath. “That’s how you get internal bleeding,” he gasped weakly.

_ A pity _ , Val said dryly.  _ If you expire now, you won’t be able to see Hanzo _ .

That immediately got his attention and he nearly sent the miniature dragon flying as he sat up quickly. “What?” even Nix, notoriously hard to rouse this early in the morning, lifted his head up.

Val grumbled.  _ Yes, _ he said testily.  _ He is showing signs of waking up. Clean yourself up and get dressed. _ His eyes narrowed.  _ And  _ eat _ , for God’s sake. You’re all a mess _ .

He scrambled up Nix’s side—his scales were tougher than Mizu’s and Nix was less likely to maul him for such an indignity—and flew away. Nix grumbled, getting to his feet, sand cascading down his sides and pouring all over McCree and his mattress.

_ I’ll go hunting _ , he said, a pep in his step as he scrambled out of the weyr.  _ I’ll bring you back something _ .

Mizu snorted and got to her feet as well, eyeing McCree’s sandy mattress.  _ You’ll never get rid of the sand. _

“Thanks,” McCree grumbled and patted her shoulder as comfortably as he would have Nix’s. Fortunately, she seemed in a good enough mood that she didn’t maul him, so he counted it as a win. “I’m going to shower and get your breakfast.”

To his surprise, she helped him to drag his bedding out of the sand.  _ You should get a proper weyr _ , she grumbled.  _ All this sand is stupid. Rock holds heat just as well, and it can be softened with pillows and blankets _ .

McCree wondered privately if she had once had such luxuries. He didn’t ask though, knew better than to do so. Instead, he held out a hand and smiled hard enough to make his cheeks hurt when she pushed her snout into it. “I’ll work on it,” he promised, rubbing his knuckles over her nasal ridge and along the delicate tendrils like whiskers around her nose. “Get you all set up like a pampered pet, huh?”

_ I  _ am _ a queen _ , she reminded him loftily.

Smiling, McCree forgot himself and asked, “Does that make me weyrleader?”

Mizu looked down at him with eyes like molten gold. She looked stern and regal and—McCree was relieved to see—amused.  _ Only if you Fly us _ , she whispered to him, far more coquettish than he was used to seeing her.

Then she left to meet Nix at the landing courts which was just as well because McCree’s mouth had run dry at the thought. He hurried to shower and get dressed, finding the base in uproar. Evidently Val and Ange had shared the good news. Soldier: 76 shoved him into a chair and shoved a plate piled high with breakfast sandwiches in front of him.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged,” he said gruffly. “Eat first,  _ then _ you can go and see him. From what Dr. Ziegler has said, he won’t be  _ really _ awake or ready for visitors for some time.  _ Eat _ —think of how embarrassing it would be if you fainted as soon as you saw him.”

Hana plopped herself down on the table across from him. “I want to know something,” she declared. “And I found something that you might want to see. Later, I know, because you want to go see your husband or whatever, but…” she fell uncharacteristically silent. “I think it’s important.”

She sweetened the deal with a hot mug of coffee and he sighed, taking the mug and downing it quickly. Immediately she refilled it. “What do you want to know?” he asked as he bit into the breakfast sandwich that Soldier: 76 had made him. It was one of the quick meals, made in the style they used to make for long flights—it was made for urgency, to be able to be eaten quickly while climbing aboard a dragon.

The old soldier had simply made  _ five _ of them and stacked them on his plate. Until he brought the first one to his mouth and took a bite, McCree hadn’t realized how  _ hungry _ he was.

“I…was thinking about what we had talked about the other day,” Hana admitted, a blush high on her cheeks. She didn’t like admitting that she was wrong, McCree knew. She was proud—they all were, and it was amazing that their egos didn’t clash as much as they should have. “And there…is a lot about dragons that I don’t know about.”

McCree took another big bite and waited for her to ask. She fiddled with her napkin and poured herself a mug of coffee which she didn’t drink.

“We were always taught that dragons are wild beasts,” she said at last.

“For the most part, that’s true. That could also be said about a soldier, too.”

Hana inclined her head in agreement. “We were taught that they are caught wild and broken to bridle like a wild horse.”

“Mostly untrue.”

Her lips pursed. “We were taught that Impression is just another word for ‘taming’.”

“Entirely inaccurate.”

Snowball appeared in the air above the table and Hana jumped. He chirruped and landed on the table next to McCree’s plate.

“No,” McCree told him, tapping him on the nose with two fingers when he sniffed curiously at the plate. “That’s mine.” Despite his words he offered a piece of egg to the fire lizard who accepted it daintily.

Hana watched suspiciously. “How is he different than Val or Nix?” she demanded.

Baby steps.

McCree reached for another sandwich. “He’s a fire lizard, nobody knows what Val is, and Nix is a true dragon. Mizu is too—a true dragon, I mean.” He shrugged. “Best we can guess, Val is just a very small dragon. Hanzo seems to think so, anyway—he doesn’t have the right conformation for any known breed of fire lizard and he doesn’t go  _ between _ like they do.”

“What is  _ between _ ?” Hana asked. Lena and Ana, also at the table, looked interested as well even though they had been around for the wings of Overwatch and already knew most of what Hana was asking.

McCree made a face. “Never been,” he admitted. “’Least, not that I’ve been awake to know. Think Reaper carried me  _ between _ once, but I was unconscious for it.” He took another bite then chewed and swallowed because Ana would smack him if he talked with his mouth full. “These days it’s a rare gift—rare enough that it’s almost enough to base the distinction between dragons and fire lizards on that fact. That and their size. Sombra and Reaper can do it—Mizu can to a certain extent, but from what Hanzo’s said, it’s not a  _ true _ trip  _ between _ . I bet you’ve seen them do it.”

“When they get all blurry,” Hana murmured.

“I hadn’t realized that it was related to  _ between _ ,” Lena murmured.

McCree nodded. “And I think Winston told me once that he researched  _ between _ with the fire lizards on base in order to build your chronal accelerator.”

That seemed to surprise her, pressing a hand to the glowing harness on her chest. “Really?”

“Yes,” Hana said impatiently. “But what  _ is between _ ?”

“ _ Black, blacker blackest / And cold beyond frozen things / Where is  _ between _ when there is naught / to Life but fragile dragon wings _ ,” McCree murmured, quoting the old poem. He took another bite while they considered that. “It’s a space between spaces. Scientists hold that it’s the key to teleportation and time travel—it’s truly fortunate that dragons these days cannot use it.”

Hana considered it. “A butterfly flaps its wings in China,” she said reluctantly. McCree nodded. She considered that concept for a while. “Now tell me about Impression,” Hana said after a few minutes as McCree finished his sandwich.

_ Hanzo is still sleeping _ , Mizu said unexpectedly.  _ He will wake soon, but Valkyrie says that Dr. Ziegler has a lot of tests to run on him before he can receive guests. Eat slower or you will choke before you can see him again. _

Scolded, McCree poured himself a glass of juice and cleared his mouth of crumbs. He grabbed another sandwich and ate it slower.

“We learned that Impression is the same as ‘taming’,” Hana reminded McCree. “But you said it’s not. What does it mean?”

“Impression is to taming as a hurricane is to a breeze,” Ana said dryly. When Hana looked at her in surprise, her smile was wry. “You don’t become friends with some of the best dragoners in the world without learning a few things.”

McCree considered the question. “Impression is…it’s hard to describe. At its core, you are there when the dragon—or fire lizard,” he added, nodding at Snowball who chirped at him, “hatches.”

“So, they think you’re their mother?” Hana asked. “Like I’ve heard people do with some birds. Dae-hyun had a goose for a while, when we were in Basic together. It died.”

“Impressing fire lizards is different than Impressing dragons,” Soldier: 76 explained, coming back with more food. He had a plate of scrambled eggs in one hand; in the other was a plate of breakfast sausages which he placed on the table. “But at its heart, it’s the same. You have an open line of communication—mind-to-mind. This way, you can speak with your fire lizard—or dragon—without the use of comms, without having to speak out loud.” Hana nodded in understanding. “With fire lizards, it’s about luck: you can pick up an egg from any nest and so long as you are there when it hatches to feed and care for it, you can Impress.”

Hana’s nose wrinkled. “How are dragons different?”

McCree hesitated. “Nobody knows why,” he told her. “But with dragons, it’s not about luck at all. They say that dragons that have Impressed won’t live if the person they’ve Impressed isn’t there. I don’t know how it happened with Mizu, but at least for me and Nix that was true—but only because he needed help hatching.” He carefully considered his next words. “They used to call it a kind of soul-binding, like some kind of soulmate business. Like the dragonrider and their dragon were destined to be together.”

Hana’s nails drummed on the table as she thought. “So, for fire lizards you choose them, but with dragons they choose you?” McCree nodded. “You said that you can talk to dragons.”

“I have a rare recessive gene,” McCree said dryly. He didn’t mention that Hanzo had it as well—that wasn’t his place.

“So, they’re intelligent,” Hana pressed.

McCree nodded, though it wasn’t much of a question. “Be glad you can’t hear Mizu. She can talk for  _ hours _ about mathematical proofs.”

“Are only Impressed dragons intelligent?” she asked.

“No,” McCree told her immediately. “Even dragons that had never encountered humans in their lifetime can speak to those that can hear them. You should ask Hanzo sometime—he and Mizu lived with wild dragons for a while.”

Hana nodded absently, looking lost in thought. “What is the issue with Hanzo Impressing Mizu?”

They all flinched. “It’s…an archaic belief,” Mei said from the doorway. She shuffled in, her eyes resting on the plate of sandwiches—McCree nudged the plate toward her and she took one with a pleased hum.

“There were a lot of issues,” McCree admitted, catching Genji standing quietly in a corner. His old friend shook his head minutely and McCree looked back at Hana. “One of the reasons was that he Impressed an experimental dragon that to the breeders, was a complete failure. As an heir to the dynasty—to a dynasty of dragon breeders—he needed to have a perfect dragon.”

Hana nodded in understanding. “The Shimada are known worldwide for their dragon pets,” she said. “And he said that his mother was from a dragon breeding family as well.”

“The Ueokas were known for their aggressive dragons,” Genji said from the corner, surprising everyone. “They bred the dragons for the JDF—were one of the very few breeders to do so. Our mother’s marriage to our father was cause for a great uproar.”

McCree nodded. “So for Hanzo to have a dragon partner that was not absolutely perfect would be shameful. I’m sure they had considered taking him out of succession for that fact alone.”

“Father didn’t agree,” Genji murmured. “He pushed for Hanzo to be the primary heir as his firstborn. That, at least, I remember. But Hanzo had another dragon.”

“I’m sure,” Soldier: 76 agreed dryly. “Just a puppet dragon to whisper lies disguised as wisdom. If there were such a dragon aligned with the belief of the elders…I’m sure that it was pushed on Hanzo. And it wasn’t like they could just kill Mizu.”

Hana made a curious noise and McCree shuddered. “If he’s lucky, Hanzo would have gone braindead,” McCree explained. “And even then, I’m not sure that would be ‘lucky’.”

_ They were also concerned that my presence would cause… _ difficulty _ in producing heirs _ , Mizu said, surprising McCree.

_ I won’t tell them that, _ McCree told her quickly.  _ It’s not for me to say _ .

Mizu snorted.  _ Hanzo is awake, _ she said, changing the subject.  _ We’re not sure when Dr. Ziegler will stop poking and prodding him. Valkyrie says that the more he fidgets, the longer it will take. _

Unable to help himself, McCree smiled.  _ That’s a very ‘Val’ thing to say _ . He stood up. “I’m going to go and lurk outside of Medical.”

He could hear Genji following him after a while and sighed. “You blame me for not knowing that they’re Impressed?” Genji asked without preamble.

“Not  _ blame _ ,” McCree told him sarcastically. “But it’s something you should have known.”

Genji huffed. “How was I to know? They spent a lifetime hiding it.”

“They  _ told _ you when they first arrived,” McCree pointed out. “And told you regularly when you asked.”

“Impression means something different in Japan.”

McCree stopped and turned to Genji. “For all you talk about moving on, all you cling to is what you used to know of Hanzo and Mizu,” he said very carefully. “Did you spend time with the breeders? Answer the question.”

“No.”

“Did you spend time with the trainers?”

“I had lessons.”

“What about after?” McCree pressed. “I doubt you worked all the time.”

Even with his mask on, Genji looked shame-faced. “No. I had better things to do.”

McCree sighed. “I can’t see how you might know back then,” he agreed grudgingly. “But how can you continue to ignore it when Hanzo continued to tell you.”

“I’m very good at ignoring the truths I don’t want to accept.”

Unable to help himself, McCree snorted. He cracked a smile. “ _ That’s _ an understatement.”

_ He named me, _ Mizu said, surprisingly casual about it.

_ You kept the name? _

_ It made sense at the time. What better way to honor the brother we both loved? _ Mizu said logically.  _ Now we think it suits us _ .

Genji was looking at him oddly. “Mizu says that you named her.”

Even with the mask on, Genji seemed surprised. “Yes,” he said slowly. “She had a name that I didn’t like. I thought she looked like the waterfalls in the koi pond.” He paused, seemed surprisingly bashful. “I was six. I wouldn’t say that I was the best at coming up with names.”

_ My name  _ was _ boring, _ Mizu said, amused.  _ I like Mizu well enough. Not everyone could have a name like “Nix”. _

Nix laughed as McCree lifted a hand to his mouth, struggling not to laugh as well.  _ My name is Phoenix. _

_ I take that back _ .

Seeing Genji looking at him oddly again, McCree shook his head. “The dragons are talking.”

_ It’s a good name _ , Nix said, pretending to be insulted.  _ Don’t you think I look like a “Phoenix”? _

Laughing to himself and feeling in much better spirits, he began walking again.  _ Knowing you two, it was for a silly reason, _ Mizu said.  _ Or perhaps it was because it sounded cool. Did you come up with the name when you were fourteen and thought that you could take on the world so long as you had a cool-sounding name? _

McCree could hear the faint echoes of Hanzo’s laugh through Mizu. It made him smile even though he was mortified at the topic of conversation.

_ I had told him to stop renaming me every five minutes, _ Nix explained, seeming to take joy in his suffering. Worse, he was fairly certain that he was also telling Val, who would tell Ange, who would tell the  _ rest _ of the base.  _ We had just left Deadlock for the Blackwatch wings. After we took over Deadlock with Ashe, he had decided to call me “Deadeye”, because it sounded cool and badass and the name that a gang boss’s dragon should have. It’s a good thing I had gone through my growth spurt then, or it would be like naming the tiniest fire lizard a name like Conquistador. _

Mizu snorted and realizing that he could hear it, he found the dragons crowded outside the windows. “Do you think they’ll be alright?” Genji asked nervously.

“They won’t fall, if that’s what you mean,” McCree told him. Out loud, he asked, “How was your hunt?”

_ Don’t change the subject _ , Mizu scolded.  _ So, you were “Deadeye”. _

Nix laughed in the way that dragons spoke; in the way he laughed out loud, it sounded like he was choking on something.

“Is something wrong with him?” Genji asked worriedly.

“He was dropped on his head as a child.” Genji gave him a strange look.

_ I was, _ Nix agreed.  _ Then we decided that a new name might be more fitting. McCree couldn’t decide on a name and made a few suggestions—yes, Conquistador was among them. _ Hanzo’s laugh was audible now and McCree couldn’t help but smile.  _ I got impatient and told him to make the next choice a good one because it will be his last _ .

Angela opened the door Medical. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re making him laugh too hard to get a good reading,” she scolded, but there was relief in her tired eyes. “You may as well come in.”

“It wasn’t us,” Genji protested. “It’s the dragons.”

“Nix is just embarrassing me,” McCree pretended to complain, walking quickly through the doors before she or Val changed their minds. The runt of a dragon scowled at him from his place on the desk but to be fair, Val was almost always scowling.

For the first time in as long as he could ever remember, McCree couldn’t hear even the voice of his own dragon. His world had narrowed down to the thin form buried in white hospital blankets.

Hanzo looked like shit, there was no two ways around it. Even though he had been gone for scarcely a week he looked far too thin, far too pale even under the uncomfortably-bright lights of Medical. There were tubes plugged into both of his arms and taped down with pale tape; a cannula in his nose made him look like a poor imitation of Mizu’s whiskers.

He must have heard that somehow because he smiled weakly. His eyes looked bruised, like they had sunken into his head.

“Damn,” McCree breathed. “Ain’t you a sight.” He walked quickly to the edge of the bed before stopping, not sure where it was safe to touch, wanting to pull Hanzo into a crushing hug but afraid of doing more harm by moving him.

Hanzo grimaced. “I’m sure I look terrible,” he croaked.

“You look like pounded shit,” Genji said unhelpfully.

McCree rolled his eyes at Hanzo. “You look like Reaper tried to eat you, found you to be too much a hardass—that or he choked on the stick up your ass—and spat you back out.”

_ Oh, by the first fucking shell _ , Val swore.

Hanzo wheezed, face turning an alarming shade of red. “Is this how you two flirt?” Genji demanded. “By the Shells. That’s it. I’m done.” He wavered, clearly unsure about leaving; seeing Hanzo’s slight nod, Genji took confidence and fled.

_ I always knew he was a coward _ , Val said in what could almost be called fondness, flipping his wings on his back and bobbing his head.

_ I think you had pulled that stick out a while ago, _ Hanzo said in the silent way that dragons spoke.

McCree grinned hard enough that his cheeks hurt.  _ I was so worried, _ he replied in the same way.  _ I thought I’d lost you.  _ We _ thought we’d lost you _ .

A shadow fell on them and McCree stepped aside so Mizu could bring her snout close enough to touch the bed. Hanzo gingerly moved his hand over to touch her nose.  _ It was worth it. _

McCree swallowed the lump in his throat.  _ Not to us _ . Moving to Hanzo’s other side, careful of all of the tubes and machines and cords, he put his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.  _ Not to us, _ he said again, leaning close to press his forehead to Hanzo’s the way that dragons did.  _ We’d rather have you at our side. We’d rather have you safe _ .

When he opened his eyes, he found that Hanzo’s were wide.  _ You fool. Even if it meant your death? _

Leaning close, McCree gently kissed Hanzo.  _ Only if it meant your life _ .

He pulled away before the kiss could become something more, something that neither of them was prepared for—physically, emotionally. McCree stepped back as Ange came around to finish her scans.

_ We’ll talk about this later, _ Hanzo promised and McCree tipped a hat he wasn’t wearing in agreement. Moving over to Mizu, he rested a hand at the base of her skull, digging his fingers into her scales affectionately as she backed up.

Crooning, Mizu tilted her head into his side and he used his other hand to rub her snout and nasal ridge consolingly. “It’s good to see you awake,” McCree said out loud, voice low.

Hanzo’s smile was tired and drawn. “It’s good to be awake,” he admitted. “Though I admit that my dreams were not so terrible.”

_ He dreamed of you, _ Mizu told McCree.  _ We both did. _

Smiling, McCree dug his knuckles more insistently into her scales and she crooned, eyes sliding shut in bliss as he found an itchy spot. “Looks like you’re going into a shed, sweet,” McCree laughed. “When you’re done here, I’ll give you a good scrub down before it gets too bad.” He smiled at Hanzo before he could protest. “Let me help any way I can,” he said softly. “You just focus on getting better so you can show me how it’s done.”

He left shortly after, knowing that his presence was only irritating Ange and Val. He knew that to an extent, Hanzo was embarrassed by his weakness, despite everything he had been through—leaving also let him keep some of his dignity.

Mizu opted to stay a while longer and after a last touch to her neck, McCree ducked out, finding half of the team waiting outside. “He’ll be fine,” he assured them and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Recovery will take a while but Ange is optimistic.”

Beaming, Reinhardt clapped him on the shoulder, nearly bowling him over. “That’s great news! Now tell me, are the dragons hungry? I have a stew going and I would love their opinions!”

Weakly, McCree smiled. “Mizu’s going to stay a while longer and they ate this morning. But I’m sure that they won’t turn down more—Nix isn’t as good at hunting in the ocean as Mizu is.”

_ You are spoiling us _ , Mizu scolded but didn’t sound truly displeased. McCree smiled to himself.

Fortunately, Reinhardt didn’t follow him and remained lingering outside of Medical with the rest of the team. It was just as well; McCree needed a moment to recover from the memory of Hanzo looking so weak.

From the memory of that soft kiss.

Nix met him in the landing court, his wings fluttering with that same nervous energy. McCree saddled him quickly, running his hands over the high cantle of the saddle for a brief moment before climbing up and locking himself in place. In a move that he had clearly learned from Mizu, Nix walked off the edge of the cliff, swooping down low over the crashing waves before he opened his wings to glide out over the strait.

His thoughts, as they ever did, returned to Hanzo and Mizu.

Feelings outside of what he shared with Nix were not his strong suit but there was no way to deny it now. Whatever affection he had felt for Hanzo and Mizu was now transformed, somehow, into love.

Beneath him, Nix snorted.  _ It was always there, _ he scolded.  _ You know it, you  _ knew _ it—you just didn’t want to name it because you were afraid _ .

_ Can you blame me? _ McCree asked, holding on to the riding straps and leaning forward as Nix began to climb into the sky.

Nix snorted.  _ Hanzo is not Ashe _ , he said almost gently.  _ When he and Mizu say that they love us, they mean it; it is not empty platitudes, it is not to control us. They love us for who we are _ .

Closing his eyes, McCree tried to enjoy the whipping wind. It was hard to; even after flying with Nix for so long, even knowing that he wouldn’t let McCree fall (not unless they intended to fall together), even after countless HALO jumps in Blackwatch under his belt, he still had that touch of fear in him. Only a handful of leather straps kept him in the saddle and he had seen other dragoners knocked from their seat with more.

But Hanzo was fearless, almost never wore so much as a waist strap when he rode with Mizu…and she was  _ fast _ , faster than Nix was and did four times as many complicated maneuvers. He’d seen them roll and loop and wingover faster than any but professional aerial acrobats—and somehow Hanzo held on only by virtue of his grip on the straps and by the grooves in the saddle.

It worked to their advantage, sometimes: Mizu would dart down over another dragon and Hanzo would climb off, on to the other dragon’s back. If there was a crew, he’d kill them; if not, he would proceed to the dragon’s shoulders and threaten it. They’d brought down a dozen Talon dragons that way and killed a dozen more.

He’d also seen Hanzo climbing over Mizu’s back while mid-flight, an amazing feat given her relative size compared to Hanzo. But aside maybe from Sombra, they were one of if not the best dragoners that he’d ever met. They were joined in a way that nobody save Reaper could understand—Sombra’s connections were borne of tech; Hanzo and Mizu’s were born out of love, out of something more mysterious than any mere trinket made by man.

Nix rolled lazily through the air and McCree sucked in a breath as the surface of the water replaced the sky over his head; he jolted back into place as Nix righted them.  _ Are you paying attention now? _ Nix asked, amused.

_ You’re mean _ .

His dragon laughed as McCree cursed, knowing what was coming next; they rolled again and the surface of the water leaped closer as they twisted and fell.

But it worked and got McCree out of his funk, if only to replace it with fear. Flying like this had never been McCree’s strong suit. It’s not that he didn’t trust Nix but a part of him had always feared the sky.

When Nix had worked himself an appetite, they flew back to the cliff to find Mizu waiting for them in the landing courtyard, curled in on herself like a very large, scaly cat.

_ I did not know that you could fly like that _ , Mizu commented, her eyes half lidded as Nix landed.  _ You normally fly like you’re a sea barge with wings. _

In the distance, McCree could hear the distant call of such a ship and made a face at her.  _ McCree is afraid of heights _ , Nix explained with a low laugh.

_ A shame _ , Mizu said, opening her eyes to peer closer at McCree.

“Gimme a sec,” McCree said as he opened the carabiners holding him in the saddle and carefully climbed down. Flying was one thing—for combat or hunting, they rarely pulled any strange maneuvers; this kind of flying, the acrobatic kind that had him clenching every muscle in his body in terror, made him feel as weak as a limp noodle whenever he climbed down. He pressed his face against Nix’s hot scales and breathed for a moment. “Once I take Nix’s saddle off, I’ll get to sand-buffing you.”

Mizu laughed.  _ I don’t know that you’re up to that _ , she teased with wicked amusement.  _ You look ready to fall over _ . She scratched idly at her neck with a long talon.  _ It’s just as well that you’re too heavy for me, or I’d show you what  _ real _ flying looks like _ .

Groaning, McCree pulled his face away from Nix’s scales and began undoing the buckles of Nix’s saddle and harness. “Cruel,” he complained and made a face at Mizu. Both dragons laughed as he wobbled to the equipment shed to put away their gear.

Despite their teasing and despite his pride stinging to know that his nerves couldn’t handle the “real” flying that Mizu talked about, McCree was grinning.


	5. Touch the Sky

Mizu began to eat again. It was not with her typical gusto and she wasn’t back to her usual appetite, but she didn’t need to be coaxed into it. Reinhardt was thrilled and he and Soldier: 76 were more than happy to grill up meats for her.

(This had another positive effect: Soldier: 76 finally got better at grilling. He would likely never be quite so good as he thought he was, but practice by feeding a dragon and the pressure of feeding an ailing one made him step up to the plate.)

After her morning meal, Reinhardt, Brigitte, and McCree polished and sharpened each of her talons, capping them in the soft wax caps that she and Hanzo used to keep them sharp. Aside from the weight she had lost, she once more began to glow with health.

At night, she curled up beneath Nix’s wing and McCree nearly choked on the contentment he felt to see the two of them entwined. At night he went to sleep in the bedroom area behind Nix’s weyr; he woke up to find that they had both turned sometime in the night, that they were curled up together on the hot sands but had stretched their necks out toward him. Mizu was usually sleeping on the pillow that Nix usually used for such times that they had slept like this.

“Maybe we should move weyrs,” McCree mused a few days after speaking to Hanzo in Medical. Both dragons watched him with near-identical expressions. “Sand is a pain in the ass to get out of bedding. Maybe stone would be better, and I could sleep under your wing, Nix.”

Mizu lifted her head and he put a hand between her soft nostrils, smiling when her whiskers tickled his arm; with his other hand, he scratched the harder scales of Nix’s snout.

_ We’d like that _ , Mizu whispered, her eyes sliding shut as McCree ran his hand over her snout.

He grinned. “Great,” he said, his heart rising in his throat. “I’ll see what we have to work with.”

“What’s gotten you smiling?” Soldier: 76 asked, still not caffeinated enough to be pleasant, as McCree walked into the kitchen.

McCree shook his head. “We’re moving weyrs,” he said simply. “Since Mizu hates the sand and she and Nix have apparently decided that they won’t want to sleep apart.”

“She’s spoiled,” the old soldier grumbled but McCree thought that he heard a faint hint of a smile in his gruff voice.

Mei rolled her eyes as McCree helped himself to breakfast. “Snowball, no!”

The fire lizard’s head popped up, his blue eyes guilty as a large link of sausage hung from his jaws. It was bigger than his head and neck. With a muffled squeak, Snowball leaped into the air and disappeared  _ between _ . Mei ran after the fire lizard, evidently guessing where he had gone off to, and McCree laughed. 

He was nearly done with breakfast when Val walked into the kitchen.  _ You will be pleased to know that Hanzo has  _ finally _ been cleared to leave Medical _ , he told McCree crisply.  _ Though we recommend that he does not engage in any… _ strenuous activity. McCree choked on his bite of food and coughed.  _ We were talking about flying, though we also recommend that you not engage in sexual activity for some time. Especially given the way you choked on  _ that _ sausage _ .

Val reared up on his haunches and Lena obediently made a small plate of food for him which he ate quickly and daintily. “What’s got you choking, cowboy?” she asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Not for the first time, McCree wondered if she could hear dragons too. Ultimately, he knew that she couldn’t—especially in the old days of Overwatch, she would have blown her own cover by laughing at the antics of Helisa and Reaper.

“Val says that Hanzo will probably be released from Medical later today,” McCree said.

_ Not what I said, but okay _ . McCree ignored him and took another bite of food; Val seemed to roll his eyes.

“That’s great news!” Lena cried.

Soldier: 76 laughed into his mug. “He told you to not…what was it? ‘Engage in strenuous activity’?”

Shaking his head, McCree stood and took his dishes to the sink. “I can’t hear you, I’m going back to the weyrs.” The rest of the team, those that were awake enough to be at breakfast, laughed.

_ Remember what I said about strenuous activity! _ Val called after him.

Shaking his head, McCree broke into a sprint, skidding to a stop when he found Hanzo in the hallway.

This Hanzo looked much better, not quite back to fighting fit but at least not like a wraith buried in the hospital bed. He held himself gingerly and he wore a set of scrubs that barely fit him but he was  _ there _ , right there in front of McCree.

Hanzo’s smile was tired but still just as dazzling. “Well?” he asked, his voice rough. “Are you just going to stand there and stare?”

“Feel like if I touch you, I’m just gonna break you,” McCree admitted, stepping closer and easing his arms around Hanzo. “You were hurt real bad, sweet.”

Sighing, Hanzo leans gingerly into McCree’s embrace. “Not as badly as I was hurt learning that you were captured,” he said into McCree’s chest.

Unable to help himself, McCree laughed. “You sap.”

“I am,” Hanzo agreed against McCree’s chest.

McCree felt his heart rise in his throat. “Shells, Hanzo, I was so scared. Promise me you won’t do that again.”

“I can’t,” Hanzo said, tucking his head further into McCree’s chest. “I can’t just sit by if you’re in danger.”

Pressing his face against Hanzo’s hair, McCree smiled. “Guess we’ll just have to keep doing stupid things together, then.”

“I like that,” Hanzo said softly.

Somewhere behind them, Mizu snorted.  _ Shards, I’m getting diabetes _ .

_ Some of us would like to greet Hanzo, too, _ Nix said pointedly and the two of them laughed as they parted.

Mizu took precedence of course, climbing out of the weyr and gingerly butting her nose against Hanzo’s chest. “Look at you,” Hanzo breathed out loud, running his hands over Mizu’s shining scales. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this polished.”

_ Whose fault is that? _ Mizu teased.  _ McCree takes much better care of me than you do _ .

“It’s a labor of love,” McCree said gruffly when Hanzo smiled at him, feeling oddly embarrassed.

Nix huffed, climbing out of the weyr as well. He came over to McCree who scratched under his jaw.  _ And yet I don’t look near as well taken care of _ .

“Your scales are shit, that’s why,” McCree teased, smacking the dragon’s snout.

Hanzo and Mizu were quiet for a while, the both of them simply basking in each other’s presence and McCree smiled to himself. “Don’t go anywhere,” Hanzo said when McCree moved to get the dragons’ morning meal. “I’m not done with you.”

Laughing, McCree leaned against Nix’s shoulder. “Oh?” he teased.

“Yes,” Hanzo said, giving him a coquettish look over his shoulder as he continued to run his hands over the smooth scales of Mizu’s face. “There are other things I would like to discuss with you. Elsewhere. Behind closed doors.”

The words were innocuous enough but the  _ look _ that he gave McCree promised that nothing as innocent as  _ talking _ was what Hanzo had in mind.

His mouth ran dry. “Val said—”

“‘No strenuous activities’,” Hanzo agreed, his eyes half-lidded. He looked very much like a very pleased dragon, lifting his chin as he watched McCree. “But he did not say strenuous  _ for whom _ , and there are many things to be done that would not…strain me.”

McCree swallowed as Nix and Mizu laughed and walked away. “Yeah,” he said weakly. “That’s true.”

“Glad that we are in agreement,” Hanzo said and walked into the weyr, following the walkway around the sand pit to the living space. “Follow me when you’re ready.”

Scrubbing a hand down his face, McCree glanced at the dragons as they left before walking—quickly, lest Hanzo changes his mind—into the weyr.

* * *

Later, tangled together and pleasantly aching, McCree sighed and pressed a kiss to skin that was sticky with sweat. “Shells,” he breathed. “I love you.”

Hanzo smiled and tugged him close and kissed him. “I love you too.”

* * *

Recovery was a slow process. They had to be very careful with Hanzo knowing that Talon had tried to turn him into an empty soldier like Widowmaker, since there was no way to tell if it had stuck or not. McCree, Hanzo, Angela, and the dragons were all moved to the old Grand Mesa weyrs to decrease the danger to the entire team and while it was nice to have relative peace and quiet, it meant a lot of work since there weren’t a lot of hands to share the load.

“It drives me crazy,” Hanzo admitted to McCree one morning as they got ready for breakfast. From there, McCree would go hunting with Nix; Hanzo would have to go to a kind of therapy with Zenyatta and Ange over video conference to map out his mental state. “I know why they’re doing it, and I know that if done correctly, I won’t know if I’m a sleeper agent just…”

McCree kissed away the frown on Hanzo’s face, feeling giddy with the knowledge that he had the right to do so, now. “I know,” he assured Hanzo, saying nothing about the team’s very legitimate concern that Hanzo would one day “wake” and kill McCree. “For what it’s worth, we believe you.”

From the weyr just beyond the doors to their suite, Nix sneezed. Neither dragon said anything and McCree rolled his eyes at Hanzo who grinned.

“ _ I _ believe you,” McCree amended and Hanzo laughed. Their joking was interrupted by the rumble of McCree’s stomach. “Sorry,” he said apologetically as Hanzo laughed again. “All this hunting’s making me hungry.”

“You’re getting better,” Hanzo told him as they left their living area. The dragons needed to be greeted of course, and Nix needed his eye ridges scratched—he was about to start a shed and he was  _ itchy _ .

By the time they wandered into the kitchen area of their small weyr, it was late morning. McCree packed himself lunch while Hanzo made breakfast and they ate at the counter, bumping elbows and hips as they stood next to each other.

Hanzo kissed him goodbye and McCree asked Mizu if she wanted to join them on their hunt. As always, she declined, refusing to fly until Hanzo was well enough to fly with her.

As always, it worried McCree and Nix but they said nothing of it.

Hunting was a quick affair when done on the back of a dragon but even so, the nature of their hunt made it such that they returned mid-afternoon, laden with the fruits of their labors, instead of much later as they sometimes did.

“You’ve returned quickly,” Hanzo said, an odd look in his eye.

McCree slid off of Nix’s back with a grunt. “You alright, sweet?” he asked as Hanzo looked contemplatively up at the wrapped bundles on Nix’s saddle.

Mizu was in rare form, pacing the landing court, her neck arched and her wings mantled. She hissed at Nix as she hadn’t done since they had first met, baring both rows of serrated teeth.

“Fine,” Hanzo said gruffly and moved to pull at the ties holding the carcasses to Nix’s back. “Come on.”

Gently, McCree caught his hands and turned Hanzo to look at him. “I’m not gonna force you to say anything,” he said gently. “But there’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

On the other side of the courtyard, Mizu paced and hissed.

“Dr. Ziegler said that she was cleared to fly,” Hanzo said at last. “But not with me.”

McCree peered at Hanzo. “You’d need to get her back up to strength,” he said neutrally. “Before she can take a rider.”

_ It doesn’t feel right _ , Mizu hissed, her long tail lashing. She turned and turned and turned in circles, bobbing her head and digging her long talons into the grass that had erupted in the landing court in the absence of people to keep it back.

“I see,” McCree said, even though he didn’t quite. No, that wasn’t right—he couldn’t understand the “itch” they felt, just as he could quite understand what Nix’s sheds felt like but he could sympathize.

And he  _ knew _ how close they were, how precious the time in the sky was to them.

“She is being stubborn,” Hanzo grumbled and McCree helped him to pull the bundles down. “I told her that we cannot fly together, not until she is stronger, but she is…stubborn.”

McCree snorted. “You both are,” he pointed out. “No, that’s an easy fix. It won’t be quite the same, but how about you ride Nix while I deal with these?” He grinned at Hanzo’s surprised expression and leaned close for a soft kiss. Hanzo wrinkled his nose. “I think we both need it,” he said gently. “You need to touch the sky as much as Mizu does—and Nix will be steady.”

_ I don’t mind _ , Nix assured Hanzo, his eyes lazily half-lidded.  _ We’ve done it before. And even if we hadn’t, this is for a good cause _ .

When McCree moved to take the carcasses away, Hanzo put a hand on his wrist. “Shouldn’t you be with me?” Hanzo asked seriously. He swallowed and looked down, tugging on the thick carabiner straps that were attached to McCree’s heavy flight harness.

Unlike Hanzo, who hung on to Mizu’s saddle by the strength of his hands and knees alone, McCree believed in strapping himself to Nix as much as possible. It showed in their saddles: Nix’s had a high cantle but Hanzo’s more resembled a curved pad to make sitting astride a dragon more comfortable.

McCree swallowed when Hanzo pulled on the harness again, something strange in his eyes. There was an intensity that McCree wasn’t used to, even knowing how Hanzo’s eyes seemed as sharp as Mizu’s as if she boiled over into him.

“If you want me there,” McCree said, absently noting that Mizu had stopped pacing, was watching them intently as she kneaded impatiently at the ground with her long talons.

Hanzo leaned in for a soft kiss, barely a brush of lips against McCree’s. “Fly with us,” he murmured.

“Let’s get the…” McCree gestured vaguely at the carcasses at their feet. “Let’s get it moved and then…yeah.”

There was a strange electricity in the air between them as they hurried to put the meat away so it wouldn’t spoil in the sun. By luck, McCree found a spare harness for Hanzo in one of the abandoned storage rooms that wasn’t completely dried and brittle and they both scrambled astride his shoulders, Hanzo settling himself in front of McCree.

It was a tight fit between the high pommel and high cantle of his saddle, but it let McCree wrap his arms around Hanzo, let him press close as they strapped in. Mizu was pacing again, her wings fluttering. She gave little hops as well, as if excited—McCree couldn’t blame her, being grounded for so long.

Nix, steady Nix, seemed to have caught on to her excitement because he was trembling, his wings shaking. They both knew that this was important, beyond important, though they couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. This was an enormous leap for them, somehow. Hanzo was shaking too, trembling with an eagerness that he so rarely showed.

They all were.

It was a step they haven’t taken, an unspoken taboo that they hadn’t crossed—if that’s what it could be called. There was certainly nothing  _ wrong _ with riding pillion, especially since they were both strapped safely in but Nix wasn’t just  _ any _ dragon. This wasn’t a dragon trainer coaxing their charge into the sky for their first flight under kit—this wasn’t just  _ anyone _ in the saddle with him, just any dragon about to fly.

This was Hanzo—this was  _ Mizu _ .

With a final, searching look at them that McCree couldn’t read, Mizu launched herself into the air. Here the air was thinner, cooler; she couldn’t use the heights of the cliffs of Gibraltar to assist her into the air, couldn’t use the brisk sea winds to gain height. Here it was work and she rowed her wings, doggedly climbing.

The light of the midday sun caught on her shining scales and McCree sighed. “I’ll never get tired of seeing her like that,” he breathed into Hanzo’s ear. “Ready?”

Hanzo was trembling in the bay formed by his arms. “Yes.”

Spreading his wings, Nix crouched and leaped into the air after Mizu. He worked to gain height, slowly climbing upward toward Mizu who was gliding above them. When they reached her, Nix spread his wings into a lazy glide.

The view was glorious, the land stretching to the horizon, nearly unbroken by signs of human habitation. In the old days it wasn’t always this pristine, but things changed with the Omnic Crisis. Without humans there, nature had reclaimed the land, swallowing old houses and buildings.

In the distance, McCree could see the rest of the former Watchpoint: Grand Mesa, now in use by private entities. The dragoners, before Overwatch had disbanded, used to live separate from the rest of the base. Only a select few bases had weyrs within walking distance, intended only for couriers or for visiting commanders—it would be a shame to have the legendary Strike Commander, or the commander of Blackwatch land their dragons and require additional transportation to reach the base where they would hold their meetings.

That and Reyes used to insist on weyring with Reaper; unlike Morrison and Helisa, the two of them got on as if they really  _ were _ Impressed.

McCree shifted his thoughts from such painful thoughts and found that Hanzo had let go of the saddle completely, was leaning back against McCree’s chest. They had sat like this many times before but never in the saddle—never when they were both hundreds of feet in the air.

“Hey,” McCree said into Hanzo’s ear, hoping that the beating of Nix’s wings didn’t drown him out. “Hold on.”

Hanzo laughed—McCree could feel it against his chest, could hear him and Mizu in the way that dragons spoke. “You’re thinking too much,” he said, running his hands down McCree’s arms.  _ Trust Nix _ , he said.  _ He won’t let you fall. Trust your kit—you won’t have let it gone bad enough for it all to fail at once. _

_ I’ve seen it happen before _ , McCree argued and remembered, his stomach going queasy with the memory.

We _ will not let you fall, _ Mizu-and-Hanzo said and McCree swallowed hard.

Hanzo put his hands over McCree’s and eased them off of the straps. He pulled them to his thighs, to his waist, to his chest. The touch—firm enough to feel Hanzo’s breathing, his galloping heartbeat—made McCree swallow.

_ It’s okay, _ Hanzo-and-Mizu breathed. Hanzo tipped his head back to McCree’s shoulder, pushing him back into the high cantle of the saddle; the straps around McCree’s waist pulled taut, were a comfortable and reassuring pressure.  _ Feel the wind beneath Nix’s wings—feel the wind on your face as you fly.  _ He lifted their hands, finding nervous resistance in McCree’s.

Reluctantly, his mouth dry and his throat tight, McCree let him tug his hands higher, up to Hanzo’s neck and past it into the air—like they were riding a roller coaster. Hanzo spread his fingers, urging McCree’s to do the same.

_ Feel it, _ Hanzo-and-Mizu urged. Ahead of them, Mizu curled her wings in and rolled.  _ Feel  _ Nix.

Nix pulled his wings in as well and Hanzo moved McCree’s arms not to the straps, but in front of the pommel—to touch Nix’s scales. It shifted their weight forward, had to be uncomfortable for Hanzo as McCree pressed him into the high pommel but Hanzo said nothing of it.

They dove and McCree’s stomach rose in his throat—he had never been one for such acrobatics, even after so many years of flying with Nix—but he could feel Nix’s elation. He loved this, the feel of the wind scrubbing over his scales, the strain in his muscles, the insistent pull of gravity that sent them hurtling through the sky.

Ahead of them, Mizu opened her wings into a fast glide and Nix followed, sending them racing over the wilderness. Mizu cried—it was elation, a wild joy of flight. Nix echoed the cry, his deep voice booming in counterpoint to Mizu’s higher voice.

_ Feel him _ , Hanzo-and-Mizu urged.

Unbidden, McCree’s thoughts went to Reaper, went to the real danger of losing themselves.

Hanzo laughed but it wasn’t mocking. Mizu tipped her wings upward and climbed for height again; Nix followed.  _ You won’t lose yourself, _ Hanzo said.  _ You have to  _ want _ to lose yourself—you are not in danger of this _ .

_ You don’t know _ , McCree protested weakly and he could feel Hanzo laughing against his chest.

Still, he obeyed.  _ Close your eyes _ , Hanzo urged.  _ Nix knows how to fly and you know how to fly on him. This time, feel him. _

That took more convincing but Nix’s wingbeats were steady, as was the motion: sliding back into the cantle with each downward beat of his wings, a moment of weightlessness as he lifted them for the next beat. It was simple, his body long-since used to the motions. He didn’t need to think about it to move his body with Nix’s.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, McCree closed his eyes. He could feel Hanzo pressed against his front, feel Nix’s scales beneath his hands.

They gained height again and McCree could feel the burn in Nix’s wings. It was pleasant, like stretching a muscle—Nix could keep flying like this for a while. McCree took a breath with him and could smell the pines; through Nix’s eyes, he could see the elk below them fleeing beneath the shadows cast by such enormous predators.

He could see Mizu, beautiful,  _ wonderful _ Mizu. If she looked beautiful to McCree’s poor human eyes, she was resplendent in Nix’s. He could see the glimmer of light like a halo cast by her shining scales; through Nix’s eyes, her golden patterning looked like molten gold.

There was a name for it, a very specific art form: broken pottery glued back together with gold.

Kintsugi, Hanzo whispered.

_ Yes, _ McCree-and-Nix said.  _ Beautiful _ .

There is something else there that none of them dare put words to, a kind of electricity that they can feel running through them. So, they don’t and enjoy the simple joys of flight, of reaching up to touch the sky as they dip and glide and soar around each other.

Any thoughts of fear could wait for later. Any consideration to the future, still left open in light of their recent capture and recovery, could be put aside. For now there was just them—just McCree-and-Nix and Hanzo-and-McCree, flying together. 

Feeling the wind beneath their wings.

Enjoying the simple pleasures of flight—of flight  _ together _ . 

Touching the sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Tell me what you think. 
> 
> Thank you also to [IchigoWhiskey](https://twitter.com/ichigowhiskey) for putting up with my whining :P
> 
> Feel free to visit me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I am getting better at posting updates there, such as where I post and when. 
> 
> As always, thank you for wading through my shenanigans. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> ~DC


End file.
